


Change (Can be a Horrible Thing)

by orphan_account



Series: The Adventures of Stiles Stark [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Bruce Wayne is Batman, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Rape, Stiles Feels, Stiles Stilinski as Spider-Man, Stiles-centric, Torture, batgirl inspired character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tony stared at the woman in front of him, eyes hardened. Pepper didn't flinch, but he'd known her long enough to see straight through the calm facade. "How could you?" His voice sounded bitter, even to his own ears.  "I did it to protect-" "Protect who?!" Tony roared in anger, "Me? The kid? Well, newsflash Pep, you fucking didn't." She winced and Tony felt his fists clench. "How could you not tell me I had a son?"  ***Or, the one in which Stiles is the son of a self proclaimed genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist who he wants nothing to do with, until he does.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This may be triggering. The first few chapters are gonna be bad and by that I mean REALLY FUCKING BAD. Read the tags.

Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

 

Stiles liked to think he had some sort of worth, but that was hardly true. Sure, he was intelligent beyond anyone his age (which he hid better than Lydia had) he was on the lacrosse team, he was the Sheriffs son, and all that jazz, but he'd always felt like that was it and no one paid for potential. Maybe he'd grow up and make a difference and maybe he could do something valuable with his life, but that could be years from now, if ever. He knew he wasn't worthless, per say, he just had never thought he'd be worth all that much. 

 

Which is honestly what boggled his mind about the whole situation. Because realistically speaking, Beacon Hills was a pretty small town and he wasn't sure his dad had been stupid enough to piss anyone this skilled off so very royally. 

 

Briefly, he wondered if his dad had been a secret agent in another life, but quickly shut off the idea. Sheriff Stilinski was a boringly normal person and the apple never fell far from the tree with that one. 

 

Which of course begged the question, what the hell was so special about him? I mean, it had to be his fault, right? This couldn't be his dad's fault, and it certainly wasn't something that the pack had done (God knows they don't even need Stiles anymore) that could have landed him here.

 

He knew from the way the knots around his wrists were tied that he's been taken by professionals. He had an IV bag attached to his arm, barely keeping him alive. Though, Stiles supposed it wouldn't be that hard to google how much nutrients a human of his height and weight would need to survive and fix the dosage accordingly. Maybe he hadn't been taken by professionals; perhaps it was your everyday Joe that wanted to get back at the sheriff of a small town. 

 

Of course Stiles didn't actually believe that, but he tried to. He doesn't believe it because he knew, he knew that he'd been tied up here for more than a month and that no amateur would've been able to keep him that long. He knew that the man who entered his cell every morning wasn't just some guy with a vendetta. He knew that the deputies had probably already sat his dad down and given him the stats. He knew that they've probably already buried an empty coffin and that his dad fell back into the bottle. 

 

Stiles shuddered, thinking about his dad drowning in a pool of his own vomit. 

 

He wasn't blindfolded but it was too dark to see anything safe for the table in front of him and the chair across it from where his daily visitor sat. He couldn't hear anything outside, not even the sound of traffic or the hustle and bustle of the urban lifestyle. 

 

The horrible scraping sound of the heavy metal door opening snapped Stiles from his thoughts. He looked up and grinned, a cynical little thing. Over the past 37 days, he learned not to fight it.

 

"You should really get some oil on those hinges," Stiles said, almost thoughtfully. His torturer paid him no attention, choosing instead to walk over to the set of tools that laid on the table, rusting with red liquid. "Seriously though, it's really annoying." 

 

It was his only defense at this point, and both Stiles and his keeper knew it. He tried his damnest not to look at the marks (experiencing the pain was bad enough) but occasionally his eyes would fall and he'd see the evidence off his time here. The man in front of him, if he could even be called that, paid no mind to the previous wounds. You'd think that be great but it truly wasn't. Stiles knew that there wasn't an inch of his skin that hadn't been marked. He shifted uncomfortably as his bruised bare ass protested against the hard metal chair, a constant reminder. 

 

"You know, I finally figured out who you are," Stiles went for tempting, but the man in front of him continued to ignore him. "It took me some time, but with the lack of things to occupy me, I figured it out. You know, I almost didn't," he scoffed. The man grabbed a tool, a clip of sorts that was placed on Stiles tongue and allowed to heat up until he was screaming. The teen gulped. 

 

"I never thought I'd be glad for taking world history," he decided that if he was gonna die here, his assassin should at least know that Stiles knew who he was. "I bet you know all about history, Sergeant Barnes." 

 

The man froze, still holding the clip in his hand. For a brief, fleeting moment, Stiles allowed himself to think that this could be it, that he could finally be free, but before he has the time to comprehend what's happening, the man was surging forward and prying Stiles' jaw open. He pulled Stiles tongue so hard that it tore and stabbed the clip into the soft flesh. Only this time, the clip didn't gradually increase in heat. This time, it was burning hot from the first touch and Stiles didn't have a second to adjust. 

 

It should be able to scream, but he did and it sounded like an animal behind skinned alive. 

 

***

 

The Avengers Tower,  
12:09

 

No one ever claimed Tony Stark was a rational man. If they had, they would be laughed out of whatever position they thought themselves worth of keeping. And Tony knew that; he was proud of it. In fact, his irrational thinking sometimes saved more lives than any amount of planning could (though not nearly as many times as it had had the opposite effect) 

 

Tony wasn't oblivious. He knew that his actions had consequences and that he'd have to face them sooner or later. He'd always assumed that it would be later, and that if he procrastinated long enough they would just go away. Okay, maybe it was less of an assumption and more of a desperate hope that he would die in battle with the Avengers before all of his horrible decisions came back to bite him in the ass. 

 

Well, more specifically, a horrible decision by the name of Claudia Munroe. 

 

Today was just not his day. 

 

He pushed past the paps, who were yelling question after question. 'How do you feel about not knowing you had a son for the past 17 years?' and 'Are you aware of the child's whereabouts?' and a bunch of other things that Tony simply couldn't process anymore. 

 

"Jarvis, get Pepper on the line," Tony said the second he walked into the elevator. His eyes were wide and hands shaky. He was sure he looked like he just got hit by a truck, which he might as well have been. 

 

"Tony?" Pepper's sweet voice asked over the line, voice calm as always. "Tony, what's wrong?" He didn't know whether she hadn't seen the news yet or she was trying to calm him down, but it didn't matter. 

 

"Forget the meeting." He told her. "Get to the Avengers Tower, now. We need to talk."

 

He cut the line, hands gripping onto the sides of the elevator. He couldn't believe what was happening and didn't want it to be real. 

 

He had a son. He had a motherfucking son.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this one is really bad. It might be triggering and I've adjusted the tags accordingly. 
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: I start my exams tomorrow so I likely won't be updating until around November 17ish? I'll post if I can't.

Location: The Stilinski Household, Beacon Hills   
Time: 15:04

  
There had only ever been two times that Stiles had asked about his biological father, and John Stilinski remembered them both with perfect clarity

  
The first had been when he was just a child, no older than 5 or 6 with chubby cheeks and a mind so curious it drove John mad. His kindergarten teacher thought that it would be a good idea to have the kids make cards for their dads for Father’s Day. He remembered how excited Stiles had been. He had rushed home and told John all about how he learned to make a pop-up card and how he'd gotten glue stuck to his forehead but it was okay because Scott thought it was funny.

  
When John reached into his backpack, he was shocked to find two card.

  
"Ma'am said that it was okay if I made two because I have two Daddies’," Stiles had said, squirming in discomfort when John hadn't spoken a word. He smiled, but he knew it was anything but comforting to the kindergartener

  
John truly didn't have the heart to tell Stiles that his biological father wasn't coming home. It was cruel and selfish but some sick, twisted part of him wanted nothing more than for Stiles to loathe him, the way John did.

  
So he told Stiles he was sure his dad would love it.

  
The kid had stayed up all night. Lord only knows why Stiles had clung to the hope that his father would return. In the safety of their bedroom, Claudia would look down in shame and admit that Stiles thought any dark haired man she would bring home after a drunken night was his dad. She confided in him that once there had been a boyfriend but Stiles hadn't been old enough to recognize him if he'd ever see the man again. That man had been the first person Stiles had accidentally called Dada.

  
It made John irrationally and unbelievably jealous.

  
John remembered that night; Stiles insisting that he would wait up, sitting crossed legged with hope only a child could possess in his eyes as he stared at the front door, waiting for a man who never returned. He remembered scooping the child's unconscious form up in his arms as he sobbed quietly into John's shoulder, half asleep.

  
"He didn't show up." Stiles had whispered in a tiny voice that shattered John's heart.

  
The next day Stiles had been devastated. He cried non-stop and refused to speak to anyone, even Claudia. His cries, oh God, John remembered those cries. To this day they still haunted his worst nightmares. Screaming cries with a child's wet voice, "He doesn't love me! My dad hates me!" And John knowing full well that Stiles wasn't talking about *him* but the words being a slap to the face nevertheless. There was nothing he could say to comfort him. Never before had he felt so useless, so...absolute.

  
From that moment on, John swore that he would do everything in his power to keep his son as far away from the glorified sperm donor that was legally considered his father. Never before had he loathed a man more than he loathed him.

  
Today, he wondered what happened to his motivation.

  
The second time Stiles had asked about his father had been far worse.

  
It was during his freshman year and he had wanted to go to a party the older kids were throwing. John knew what was going on long before the ambulance was called in to pick up two teens that had OD'ed and died. So it was obvious that he would eat his own hat before he allowed his son anywhere near them.

  
"I'm going to the party and you can't tell me no," Stiles had argued in anger, arms crossed in front of his chest. John had raised a brow, unaffected.

  
"I can and I will." He had said calmly. The two had a stare down, Stiles eyes flaming with teenage anger and John's completely calm.

  
Stiles had huffed in annoyance and his dad’s indifference and turned to the door. That got a reaction out of John."I'm serious young man. Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you." He had grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and spun him around viciously. If he had ignored the look of fear in his son's eyes, it was for the best. "I said no, and that's final!"

  
"You can't tell me what to do." Stiles' voice was barely a whisper and with all of his controlled anger, John hadn't realized it was out of fear. "You're not even my real dad."

  
John had taken three steps back, as if Stiles, as if his son had physically slapped him. Stiles must've realized his words, because all the fear in his eyes dissolved, melting into puddles of guilt.

  
"Dad-" he had tried to say, taking a step forward. John had held a hand up to stop him. For a long moment, neither spoke a word. Stiles looked at John's hand as if it were a barrier, an unspoken line that he had just crossed, and once again, fear filled his eyes. He looked like he was about to cry, so he ran upstairs and didn't come down until the next morning.

  
That morning, the Sheriff sat at the kitchen table, waiting for him. Stiles was surprised to see him there, but joined him nevertheless when John had asked of it.

  
"I'll tell you everything," John had said, seriously. "If you want to know, I'll tell you what I know about your biological father. Stiles, I love you and I'll always consider you my son. But if this is what you want-"

  
He hadn't gotten much further into the speech that had kept him up that night, because sooner than he could comprehend, Stiles had stood and pulled him up into a hug. "I don't care about him." Stiles had said, and back then, as his son climbed onto him for dear life, the Sheriff believed that he never would.

  
John took a long swig from the glass in his hand, eyeing the card on the table with contempt. He wondered if she would be able to help him. He wondered if she would even give a fuck or if she'd hang up on his sorry ass. But this was his last option and he was running out of time.

  
Quickly, John drowned the contents of his glass before picking the card up and dialing the number. No time for contempt. The phone rang once, twice before a voice was heard on the other end.

  
"Stark Industries, how may I help you?" The voice said kind and calm.

  
"I need to speak urgently to Miss Potts. Tell her it's Stilinski."

  
****

  
Location: Unknown   
Time: Unknown

  
'Prayer, the last hope of a desperate man.' Stiles remembered the quote from the previous year when it showed up in his English paper as an essay topic. Back then, Stiles had written about a man whose wife was dying after being in a car crash. The details were a little bit fuzzy, but he remembered writing that the husband allowed for his wife's organs to be donated, then adopted the child who received her heart.

  
Now, sitting strapped to a chair in a dark room, Stiles realized how he had subconsciously written his life story in the form of a cheesy romance. It was stupid, Stiles thought, to worry about an English paper from when he was 15, but Stiles knew that if he allowed it to, the Silence would surely drive him insane.

  
He wasn't desperate enough to pray yet. He'd stopped believing in God when aliens fell from the sky.

  
It had been three days since he had revealed his knowledge to his torturer. Since then, he's been too afraid to speak. That and the jolts of electricity that had been sent to his tongue impaired his ability to do so. He could barely breathe, let alone make sarcastic banter.

  
Stiles wondered if he was wrong, if his captor wasn't Barnes. It should be impossible, but after everything with Captain America and the Avengers in New York, Stiles knew that the definition of the word had changed.

  
Stiles Stilinski was being tortured by the man he had claimed to be his role model in their grade.

  
As if on cue, the metal door slid open and, once again, Stiles' ears were filled with that horrible scraping sound. He wanted to say something and opened his mouth to do so, but only served to gag on his own tongue, the sound amplified by the emptiness of the room.

  
"You have no idea why you're here, do you?" At the sound, Stiles jumped, inadvertently putting pressure on his broken shoulder blade. He grit his teeth to stop from screaming out, knowing that the sound would be monstrous even to his own ears.

  
The voice sounded like it was close, but Stiles couldn't see. It was too dark. "I wish I could tell you, if only to gauge the reaction on your face but that wouldn't be good for the long run." The voice sounded cold, evil but...fatherly somehow. "Not that you need to worry about that. You'll be too dead to care."

  
At his words Stiles eyes widened. He wished he could say that it was in fear, but the feeling that flooded him was far too sweet. The wicked touch off relief washed over Stiles broken bones, and he felt as though he could finally breathe. But on the outside, he remained stoic.

  
"Take your time." Stiles knew that the man wasn't talking to him. "And make it hurt."

  
The door slammed shut and Barnes approached the table once more. Stiles looked at him with hatred as the man picked up a hammer and some string. The teenager gulped and for the first time in what felt like months, Stiles began to struggle. He pulled at his restraints, the rope burning when it hit raw flesh, but he couldn't - not again.

  
He tried to beg, to cry out for help but sounded as though his tongue didn't work. It all turned into a desperate meaningless word that held no shape. If Stiles had heard it from someone else, he would surely beg them never to speak again. He felt the panic raising in his chest, clawing at his lungs until he could barley breathe.

  
The sounds he made were truly disgusting, even to his own ears but that didn't stop him. Finally, Barnes had had enough and clamped a hand over Stiles mouth. It hurt like hell because, as he had found early on, Barnes' hand was made of metal and pushed hard against his loose teeth that had been wrenched out with a pair of pliers and stabbed back in.

  
Barnes used his other hand to reach behind Stiles and untie his arms from the chair. He tried his damnest to fight back to do something, anything but his shoulder was dislocated and Barnes was twice his size. With his wrists still bound, Stiles arms were pushed forward until they were spread out on the table and the edge rigged into his armpits. Stiles stopped screaming choosing to close his eyes and prepare for what came next, so Barnes took the metal hand and held him down as he tied Stiles to his new position.

  
Hate was too weak of an emotion to describe what Stiles felt for the man in front of him who stared at his victim with cold, heartless eyes. Barnes pressed down on the back of Stiles' hands until his fingers were forced out. He didn't even hesitate when he picked up the hammer and slammed it onto Stiles pinky.

 

He screamed, of course he did but it sounded like a cat was being strangled. Barnes showed complete indifference to the struggling of a prisoner, choosing instead to inspect the damage. Stiles glared all the way, his eyes portraying that what his tongue was too fucked up to. He didn't know why it was done in this order, but he supposed that it didn't really matter.

  
Twenty minutes later, when Barnes had finished all ten fingers, Stiles began to cry. He didn't care how he looked with tears leaving clear paths down his bloodied face. He didn't care that he was becoming more and more dehydrated or that when his stomach heaved he could see his ribs as clear as day.

  
He was weak, but he didn't care.

  
Barnes continued without falter. Stiles knew from experience that he wouldn't stop, not even when Stiles would start to wail loud enough to burst an eardrum. Barnes came behind him and cut the ropes that were tying Stiles to the chair. He whimpered when the blade dug deeply into his pink, skinned legs, something that he'd brought on himself when he tried to run away.

  
He pulled the chair away, and the only thing stopping Stiles from falling over was the tightness of the restraints that held him to the table. Barnes spread his legs wide until he could zip tie Stiles' ankles to the legs of the table. His thighs protested loudly and Stiles bit down, crying silently. Only now, there weren't any tears; there were dry heaves and gasps and burning lungs.

  
The echo of Stiles’ cry was heard miles outside of his prison cell after Barnes unzipped his fly.

  
***

  
There were two things that Tony was one hundred percent certain of. One, that energy can never be created or destroyed - it can only be transferred and converted. Two, Pepper Potts was a far more rational being than he was, and she'd never allowed anyone to so much as think otherwise.

  
So, when she walked into his lab with her hair disheveled and her skirt a shade lighter than her top, he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. But not even that quelled his burning anger.

  
She stopped when she saw him, a hand in front of her as though she were about to reach out and touch him. The glare that stabbed into her eyes from Tony's heated gaze stopped her.

  
He saw the moment when it clicked in her eyes, when she realized that _he knew_ but it didn't last long.

  
Tony stared at the woman in front of him, eyes hardened. Pepper didn't flinch, but he'd known her long enough to see straight through the calm facade. "How could you?" His voice sounded bitter, even to his own ears.

  
"I did it to protect-"

"Protect who?!" Tony roared in anger, "Me? The kid? Well, newsflash Pep, you fucking didn't." She winced at the truth behind the statement and Tony felt his fists clench. "How could you not tell me I had a son?"

  
"I'm sorry." She said calmly. "But I have no regrets." When Tony opened his mouth to roar out a protest, Pepper continued. "You know how you were Tony. It was no place to raise a child."

  
And that, that was a fucking low blow. Tony knew what a bastard he had been and back then, he'd worn the title with pride. Today, it felt like a slap in the face.

  
Because he knew deep down that she was right, but he couldn't admit that out loud. So he went on offence. "So why not after, huh?"

  
"After what?" Pepper asked in exasperation. "After Afghanistan? After you revealed yourself as Iron Man and had a mad man try and kill you? After you threw yourself in the path of danger day in and day out?"

  
"I had a right to know," his voice was bitter, angry, and colder than it had been years. Pepper took a step back.

  
"And he has the right to safe life," Pepper countered and Tony hated her for being right.

  
He took a deep breath and turned away; staring at the machines he had been working on. It was a precautionary measure for the Big Green Guy and it felt like a slap to the face. He knew that the kid could never be safe here. Pepper was right.

  
"At least tell me he's happy." It sounded like a beg. Pepper sighed and Tony snapped his head up at that.

  
"Tony, he's been taken."


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who should be studying! Lol this one just wouldn't leave me alone. For those of you asking, this is set post Avengers (2012). This may be triggering.

Location: The Stilinski Household  
Time: 07:28

The sound of a kettle whistling softly in the next room could be heard in the silence of the room. The two men stared each other down, one with sorrow and regret and something that looked akin to *shame* and the other with bitterness and hatred, but most dominantly, relief.

  
Tony didn't even want to begin to go through all the things that made The Sheriff's marginally consoled expression completely rebarbative. He wondered what the next option would've been if John hadn't thought to come to Pepper, or if God Forbid Pepper had actually rejected him.

  
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, but still couldn't bring himself to speak. Thankfully though, John Stilinski was as kind as his neighbours said he was.

  
"So you're him?"

  
It was completely unnecessary, John thought. Of course it was him. He remembered the day when Claudia had first got her diagnosis and had told him everything she knew about Stiles' biological dad. But John wasn't stupid enough to think that the man his dying wife had spoken about and the one sitting before him today were two very different people.

  
"Um, yeah," Tony coughs out awkwardly and because this is painful for the both of them, he just blasts forward. "I didn't know. I mean, that's no excuse. Of course I didn't know but I _should've_  known. I was too busy killing millions to worry about why a girl I was into just suddenly left and-"

  
"As much as I'd love to blame you and drag you through the dirt," John interrupted, holding a hand out. "We have bigger things to worry about right now. I wouldn't have called you if I wasn't truly desperate. I'm out of time and options and sitting on our asses and playing the blame game isn't gonna help anyone."

  
At that, Tony very promptly shut his mouth closed, guilt pooling in his stomach. This wasn't about him. "What happened?" He asked and wished he didn't have to.

  
"It all started Monday morning, on April 27th," John began, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. "I went to work, Stiles went to school. It was...normal."

  
Tony didn't say anything when the Sheriff took a deep breath. No one said it, but it hung in the air like a cloud of thick smoke. This was _his_  fault. Someone had clearly figured out that there was another Stark roaming around the streets and wanted to get back at Tony.

  
A voice in the back of his mind told Tony that the man in from of him blamed himself too. Tony ignored that voice for the time being.

  
There was a long silence before John spoke again. "At about 8:46 I received a call from Beacon Hills High, Stiles school. They said that he'd never shown up and called to ask what was wrong. Apparently even his best friend hadn't heard from him. That's what caught my attention."

  
John laughed, but it sounded bitter. "Stiles and Scott, they're always getting into all kinds of shit. I worry all the time, but I never thought..." At that, Tony leaned forward and placed what he hoped was a comforting had on John's shoulder. The contact seemed to jar him back to reality. "Anyway, I sent out a deputy to go look for him."

  
"They found his car a few blocks north of the woods." Tony jumped at the sound of a new voice. He glanced back to see a boy standing at the doorway, eyes red and puffy, no older than twenty. "The tired were slashed and the front window was shot out. His blood was all over the back seats."

  
The boy clenched his fists, taking a deep breath. It was almost as if he could still smell the metallic scent. "The trail went cold about twenty miles south. We haven't found anything since."

  
Tony nodded. John didn't seem to disapprove of the boy being here, at least not vocally anyway, so he went with it. "Did you try tracking his cell phone?" Tony asked, then glanced at the Sheriff. "Sorry, right stupid question. Of course you did."

  
"We found the phone a few miles south from Roscoe," the boy said again. Tony's brows met in confusion, but the Sheriff quickly interviewed.

  
"The car," he supplied. "We weren't able to get much from the phone. We were hoping that you could help in that regard."

  
"I'll send in two friends of mine to check out the crime scene." Tony said, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable conversation he had to have with the Avengers. "Just to be certain. It's still an active crime scene, right?"

  
"Yeah," John said. "It's on private property. We convinced the owner of the land to keep everything the way it was, until...you know, we found him."

  
The way The Sheriff had said it made Tony feel as though they weren't exactly expecting a living person to return. By the look on the boy's face, Tony figured he'd guessed what he was thinking.

  
John looked to the boy, standing up. "Scott-"

  
"He's alive," the boy, Scott, protested. Tony could tell that this was a conversation that they'd had one too many times before. "Okay. Stiles is alive. You may have given up hope, but I haven't. I know he's still out there. He's not dead. He can't be."

  
"I haven't given up hope." The Sheriff said, bitter. "You know I haven't. It's just- God Scott, you need to be prepared!"

  
Scott shook his head. "Stiles is alive. I can _feel_ it."

 

***

Location: Unknown  
Time...ah fuck it.

  
Stiles closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face quietly. He tried his damnest to ignore the blood trailing down his chest, over his broken ribs and onto his stomach. It pooled there, because after the first two weeks his belly scooped inwards from his ribs down.

  
Today, he felt it. They'd taken him off the IV drip and hadn't brought a replacement in any form. After what he assumed was a few hours, his body started spasming to the point where the deep, healing cut on his neck that had been carefully place so that if he moved, he'd kill himself (a measure of precaution from the first day) had sliced open again.

  
He was bleeding, profoundly, but it wasn't enough to kill him. No, Stiles knew what they were trying to do.

  
He was gonna starve to death.

  
It was a horrible way to go. The worst he knew of. He remembered doing a report on something similar for biology. He knew that he had no fat to speak of, and that his body had already begun to eat it's own organs. It was a slow, painful process and it would take _weeks_  before he finally went into cardiac arrest and died.

  
He hated this. At least if they'd taken a gun to his head he could go out swinging. This was new a whole other kind of disgrace. How could he fight his own body? It was worse than being captured and tortured. The knowledge that his own body was betraying him, that he was killing _himself_ , was almost enough to light a spark of fight in him.

  
Almost...

  
"I see you've made yourself comfortable," a voice said from the doorway. Stiles doesn't look up. He hadn't even heard the fucking roar of the metal door. "Don't worry, boy, it's only a matter of time. You'll have served your purpose soon. I promise."

  
Stiles ignores the blossoming hope that forms in his chest and instead chooses to focus on the revolt that The Man's words bring. He hated that his being here worked in their favour. He hated that he was doing something _for_  them, whoever the fuck they were. He didn't speak; he knew it was a lost cause.

  
The Man walked up to the table, but Stiles still didn't look up. He could feel the bastards heated gaze on his neck, but Stiles couldn't be bothered to give a fuck. Suddenly, he was being yanked up by the length of his hair.

  
"What's the matter, boy'o? Now you're at a lost for words? Or, maybe, you just can't speak anymore. God knows that didn't stop you from screaming with the Soldier." The Man sneered as his grip tightened until Stiles scalp ached. "At least you were having fun."

  
And that, _that_  was almost enough to make Stiles snap. The Man laughed, cynical and mean and _vicious_  and Stiles wanted to cry. But he wouldn't. He'd already shown enough weakness in front of The Man and Barnes, and he only had a small shred of dignity left.

  
Stiles kept his eyes focused on the ground, on his toes. He watched as they wriggled slightly, having improperly healed from when Barnes had broken them the on the first day; another means of precaution.

  
"Hey!" The Man roared, but Stiles didn't flinch. His eyes were cold and glassy, not looking away from the floor. He was sure he looked like a mental patient. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, son!"

  
And of course his head snapped up at that. "Don't call me that _._ " He spat out in anger, eyes burning with the fire of his thundering hatred. He was sure that it was the only reason the words came out coherent. "You're _not_ my father." The Man laughed.

  
"Of course not." And he pulled up the chair, the one that Barnes used. It was then that Stiles saw what he had in his hand.

  
A tray of food.

  
It was too dark and Stiles had too many blows to the head to decipher what kind, but it didn't matter. His stomach rumbled loudly at the chance, even though his mind couldn't even engage the thought. Once again, Stiles felt betrayed by his own body. He looked at the food, eyes longing despite his minds protest.

  
"Do you know what's happening to you body right now, Stiles?" The man asked. Stiles looked up and for the first time, he saw the man's face. His eyes widened in realization. "Do you? Well, in the very general sense, it's started to eat itself. First it went after the fats, which ah, we've already taken care of." He made a vague gesture to Stiles arm and Stiles thought of all the weight he'd lost with the IV. His stomach growled again. "Don't worry, it gets much worse."

  
"After that, your body'll start in on your muscles. Your body's primary mission is to keep your heart and lungs together to keep your brain going. They way that it sees it, this is still just a temporary emergency, so if other internal organs have to shut down, well, we'll it'll cross that bridge when it comes to it." Stiles gulped loudly but it felt dry.

  
"Of course, your stomach has been shrinking this whole time. It hurts. A lot." He told Stiles. He was right. Stiles had felt the pain; it was the only thing he could think about when Barnes wasn't there. "Your metabolism has slowed, so that you don't need as much energy, so you last longer on what you have. Don't worry boy, we've adjusted the dosage. If you starve long enough, you'll be skin and bones, like you may have seen in those beautiful pictures of the Nazi death camps, such as Buchenwald and Auschwitz."

  
If it hadn't already, Stiles stomach would've plummeted. "The amazing part though, is the _resiliency_ of the body. If you don't need to work or move, you'll live longer which is one reason why internees at the death camps lived far longer than the American soldiers of the Bataan Death March. Heat and cold don't help - you'll either need more calories warming yourself, or need to expend more calories cooling yourself."

  
"As you reach into the final stages, your body really will start to die. Your tongue will die, and literally shrivel and fall out. Not that you've been using it all that much. Extremities such as hands and feet will die, all processes which are _hideously_ painful." The Man smiled. "Finally, your last organs, your heart and lungs, simply won't have the necessary energy resources to continue, and will slow down and stop."

 

Suddenly, the man lurched forward, grabbing Stiles by the front of his face and digging his fingers into his jaw. "Your body will go into cardiac arrest. Your brain will be so deprived of oxygen that you'll start gasping and convulsing. And when you do, I want you to remember my face."

  
With whatever energy Stiles had left, he spat in said face.

  
***

Location: The Avengers Tower, New York City  
Time: 10:28

  
"You're being ridiculous, Barton." Natasha said, as she walked into the room. Thor only glanced up from the program on television that he'd been watching. Beside him, Steve snorted.

  
Clint was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of expresso/corn flakes in his hands. "What?" He asked in confusion. "It's convenient. I'm having my breakfast and my coffee at the same time!"

  
"Didn't Tony ban you from using the coffee machine?" Steve asked, turning around on the couch so he could face Clint. He knew that Tony wasn't here and had left the previous night to take care of some company dealings. Steve wasn't sure how true his excuse had been.

  
"What Tony doesn't know won't kill him."

  
Pepper, who had just been walking in, flinched. All the Avengers looked up at that. She didn't need to say much to get everyone's attention, but when she did speak, she causes held breaths and a small rise of panic.

  
"Tony needs your help."

  
There was a moment of silence where each of the Avengers waited with held breaths but Pepper said no more. A beat, then:

  
"Suit up."

  
***

Location: Beacon Hills  
Time: 15:49

  
As it turns out, they didn't have to suit up. Pepper had explained to them clearly that this mission was low profile so that's what they decided to keep. Everyone on the team was tense. No one knew exactly what they were walking in to. Normally, it would be Steve who was leading them into battle but he too was lost.

  
"Remember, low profile." Steve's reminder was unnecessary considering even Pepper had taken to swapping out her formal wear for a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt. The group, safe for Doctor Banner who decided to remain home, began to make their way off of the Quinjet, looking a little out of place in their casual get up.

  
When the stepped foot on solid ground, Steve breathed a sigh of relief. When his eyes landed on Tony's figure a few feet away, Steve felt a heavy weight being lifted off of his chest. Pepper hadn't told them anything, and he had feared the worst.

  
"Is there any reason in particular that you decided to drag us cross-country for a mission?" Clint asked sarcastically as he approached the billionaire. He opened his mouth to say more but his words fell flat when he got a full view of Tony's face.

  
"How bad?" He asked, the other Avengers trailing close by.

  
"Pretty fucking bad." Tony replied, and immediately everyone knew that something was horribly wrong. Tony always, *always* downplayed the situation, and this time was no exception. That scared the crap out of Steve.

  
"Gentleman, and Natasha," Tony said, trying but failing to slip on his narcissistic facade. No one believed it but no protest was heard. "I'd like you to meet Sheriff Stilinski."

  
It was only then that Steve noticed the man next to Tony. He was of average height and weight, but the anxiety on his face made him look far older than what Steve assumed he was.

  
"Sir." Steve said in greeting with a nod of his head since none of his teammates thought to. "What seems to be the problem?"

  
The man, Stilinski, glanced towards Tony who nodded. "We're dealing with a missing persons. Seventeen year old boy, 5'10 with dark hair and brown eyes. Went missing from a few feet north just over a month ago."

  
"Sheriff," Natasha said, stepping forward. "I'm sure you've dealt with missing persons before. You should know that by now it would be appropriate to consider calling the families and telling them to expect the worst. The chances of finding this boy alive is-"

  
"Yeah, I know, less than three percent." The Sheriff mumbled. Clint stepped forward.

  
"Then why do you need us here?" He asked, glancing at Tony.

  
"Because he's my son."


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my BIRTHDAY!!!! ....so I thought I'd give you guys a little something

Location: Beacon Hills, California  
Time: 08:45

  
Clint looked over the view in front of him, eyes scanning the surface but digging immeasurably deeper. From here, from where he was perched atop a tree branch thirty feet west of the crash sight, he had a clear perspective.

  
It was a gift, or at least that was what he'd been told when he'd first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Ever since he was a child, Clint's mind could reconstruct crime scenes as though they were happening right before his own two eyes.

  
It felt like a curse.

  
Yesterday afternoon, Clint had hit the streets. He'd taken it upon himself to do some background on the kid. It bothered him to no end that Tony wouldn't tell them the reason, the _actual_  reason why the Avengers had been called to assemble to find the son of some small-town Sheriff. So he had decided to get as much information about the kid as he could.

  
What he found made his stomach churn.

  
This kid, whoever he was to Tony, was well loved. From the little he got from the kids friends, they hadn't been showing him how much they cared about him. Stiles, they called him.

  
First, there had been Scott McCall. He was a decent kid, the kind that didn't go out drinking all that often and knew the name of your little sisters cat. He could tell why Stiles had gravitated towards him. Psychology, Stiles needed a caring, compassionate figure in his life after his mother had died. Scott obviously knew more than he was letting on, but Clint figured it would be easier to get more out of him once he figured out more about the disappearance. All he'd gotten from Scott was that Stiles was a great kid, wicked smart, and a bit of a spaz.

  
Next there was Allison. Clint wasn't too sure about her. He recognized the arms of an archer when he saw them. He saw the way she scanned the area before taking a seat and he carefully gauged her reaction when she saw his bow. She was a hunter, that much had been clear. What exactly it was that she hunted, Clint was so sure. Again, he hadn't gotten much about Stiles from her. Allison did mention that Stiles had been feeling hesitant about his early acceptance to MIT. Maybe he had someone he was afraid to leave behind.

  
Of course that had led him to find Derek Hale. Hale was...something else entirely. He was a few years older than Stiles, but Clint recognized the age that grief and sorrow dragged with it. According to the Sheriff, the Hale family had died in a fire 13 years ago, and Hale, his Uncle Peter and his sister Cora had been the only remaining members. The kid had been through a lot, and Clint of all people knew how hard it was to have the security blanket that was family to be pulled out from under you.

  
But the way he spoke about Stiles.

  
Hale was in love with him, whether he was ready to admit it or not. Clint knew that stage - denial. He'd experienced it when he and Coulson first started seeing each other. More recently, he saw it in Steve and Tonys lingering glances and wistful eyes.

  
God, they were annoying.

  
Hale knew things about Stiles that the others didn't, or at least didn't think was important enough to mention. He knew his shoe size and the fact that he still kept an inhaler in his left pocket despite Scott being asthma free for three years now. He knew that Stiles wore contacts because he was short sighted and that he always forgot to leave the car in neutral.

  
It took everything inside of Clint for him to not slap the Hale kid upside the head.

  
Clint blinked away his slight smile and focused on the patch of land in front of him. The Jeep was still there, upturned and protected by police tape. Clint focused, and suddenly he was there.

  
There was a man, taller than Stiles, probably older, that had shot out the front window. That had been about twenty feet from the car's current position. The Jeep flipped, twice, the first time crushing the mirror and the second leaving a dent in the hood. The car came to a skidding stop, upside down to where it currently was.

  
The man who'd shot out the car, Clint mentally nicknamed him Jack, approached the vehicle. For a second, Clint thought that he'd used a crowbar of some sorts to rip the door off it's hinges, but he wasn't that hopeful. He knew the marks on the door of the car that had been carelessly thrown a few feet away, had been similar to that of finger prints.

  
Clint figured that Jack had simply grabbed Stiles but quickly realized that he was wrong. There had been a struggle, which had led to Stiles being shot. Probably in the shoulder or neck region judging from the position of the blood.

  
God, Clint hoped it was the shoulder.

  
Jack had dragged Stiles away, but soil erosion prevented Clint from figuring out an actual direction. The archer walked forward until he was face to face with Stiles' wrecked Jeep. He already had a suspect for who Jack was; Clint just hoped to God he was wrong. When he bent down and picked up a stray bullet, one the Sheriff's department would have undoubtedly missed, Clint gluped.

  
Soviet slug, no rifling.

  
***

Location: Beacon Hills  
Time: 09:00

  
The fresh air whipped against the soft skin of Steve's face as he ran through the woods. He liked it, breathing in air that wasn't saturated with pollutants.

  
Steve had grown up in Brooklyn, but back then it wasn't what it was now. He remembered the days when he was allowed to go out, when his asthma wasn't that bad. He remembered the smell of the air. It was something he missed in his new home in New York.

  
Of course Steve loved it there. The Avengers...they had become his second family. For the first time since he awoke from the ice, he didn't feel as though everyone was constantly walking on egg shells around him.

  
They joked about his situation openly, but not too often. He would never tell them, but it all help him to cope, helped him to feel normal. Yes, there were times when Tony had walked in on him having panic attacks and had to calm him down, and yes, Steve had fallen victim to days of depression where he would speak to no one and long for a home that no longer existed.

  
But it was becoming a rare occurrence.

  
Here, in this time, Steve was finally beginning to feel like he wasn't completely lost.

  
However, Beacon Hills reminded him of home. It wasn't the pang in his chest that he thought it would be. Rather, it was a feeling of nostalgia. It felt good, like Steve was moving forward without forgetting.

  
The reason they were here thought, that still bothered him.

  
Who the hell was this Stilinski kid? More importantly, who was he to Tony? Steve hadn't beloved Tony's bullshit excuse about him being a friend of the family for one second. He knew something was up. What surprised him though, was the intensity of the _hurt_  he felt when he realized Tony was lying to him. Didn't he trust Steve?

  
A small voice in the back of him mind knew exactly why Steve was feeling so hurt, but he pointedly ignored it.

  
With a sigh, Steve finished up his run and headed back to the Stilinski Household. The Avengers had all been staying there, and would continue until further notice. Steve had watched the argument between Tony and The Sheriff, but John had insisted that he wanted to be in the loop on the investigation.

  
Of course Steve understood why. It was his son's life they were taking about here. Steve could only imagine the panic he would be drowning in had someone who was that close to him been taken.

  
Mentally, he thought of Tony strapped to a chair, covered in his own blood begging for death.

  
Steve gulped.

  
"Any word from Clint yet?" Steve asked, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water. From her position on the counter, Natasha shook her head.

  
"Nothing yet, but he just texted. He'll be back soon." Steve nodded. Natasha hesitated before glancing to the lounge and asking in a soft whisper: "What's really going on here, Rogers?"

  
Steve's shoulders sagged. "I don't know." He'd always had this bond with Natasha, maybe because she reminded him so strongly of Peggy. He felt as though he didn't need to put on his Captian face with her. He could just be Steve.

  
"There's definitely more to this whole situation than Tony's letting on," Steve continued. He opened his mouth to speak again but Natasha cut him off.

  
"I don't think we should push." At the look of shock on Steve's face, she continued. "I mean, I'm curious, don't get me wrong, but secrets are kept for a reason. If there's something that Stark doesn't want us to know, I'm sure there a good one behind it. I say we find the kid, hopefully alive, and figure the rest out when the time comes."

  
For a moment, neither of them said a word. Steve felt shame wash over his body. He had been so caught up in his feelings of betrayal towards Tony that he hadn't even stopped to consider that there was probably a really good reason behind it. Natasha sighed.

  
"Don't do that, big man," she said scoldingly, "I know you're mad at Tony - don't look at me like that, you two are so obvious - but don't let my opinion make you drown yourself in guilt. You had every right to not trust him. All I'm saying is that he might have a valid excuse."

  
"Well, whatever his excuse is it better be pretty darn fantastic." Both Nat and Steve looked up at the sound of the loud voice. Clint walked in, his expression blank but his eyes furious. "Because if it isn't, I might just kill the bastard myself."

  
At the sound of Clint's booming announcement, Tony walked into the kitchen. "What are you on about?" He asked miserably, obviously having just woken up from a nap. "You're gonna wake the Sheriff."

  
"This Stilinski kid, whoever he is," Clint said, looking directly at Tony, "He's been taken by The Winter Soldier."

  
***

Location: Unknown   
Time: Unknown

  
His limbs ached. Stiles felt as though every muscle in his body had been stretched taut, as far as it could go, before snapping back into place. But never the same, just a little bit off. Stiles scoffed.

  
That wasn't exactly far from the truth.

  
They had moved him. He didn't know where he was, but he suspected that he was still in the same building. Maybe not. For all he knew, they could've drugged him and dragged him halfway across the world.

  
It didn't matter where he was though. It didn't change anything. In this new location, Stiles no longer sat at a table. He was now upright, but not by his own accord. His wrists were chained to the ceiling above him, his own weight, however little it was, dragging them down until the sharp metal of the handcuffs dug into the bruised skin, drawing blood.

  
His ankles were chained too, each one to separate ends of the eight foot contraption on the floor. It forced his legs to spread wide, his body exposed for anyone's taking. And by God did they take. Stiles laughed bitterly at that.

  
The room was small, but was taller than Stiles' height by at least ten feet. With his ankles chained to the ground, and his wrists to the ceiling, Stiles body had no choice but to either break the chains, or _stretch_

  
He was human, only human. There was no way in hell he could break the chains, even if he hadn't been dehydrated and on the verge of starvation. So his body had no other choice.

  
Stiles could _feel_  his arms literally being ripped from his body. They had already been dislocated from the shoulder socket and it burned like nothing he had ever felt before. His legs were the same. Stiles could see the top of the bone from each limb protruding violently through his thighs, covered by a layer of translucent skin.

  
He didn't know if he was imagining it or not, but Stiles swore he could hear it. In the silence of the night, for those precious few hours where he was left _alone_ , where his body wasn't there to be used and tossed aside or pulled apart, inch by inch like a piece of cotton wool, Stiles swore he heard the sound of his muscles tearing.

  
If he had longed for death before, now he begged for it.

  
"My poor baby,"

  
Stiles looked up abruptly at the sound of the voice. He was alone, and had been for hours. The only visitors he got were The Man and Barnes plus the occasional add on who was just looking to get off, all of whom had already had their daily fun.

  
But this voice he knew. It was impossible. No. Please God _no_ , don't say they have-

  
"Lydia?" Stiles asked into the void, his voice wavering. He looked up, as far up as he could, and tried to focus on the sound. His stomach churned and he felt like vomiting. He held it down, knowing that he would only be able to dry heave until all he knew was pain.

  
The voice came again, but this time it sounded like a distant whimper. "Look at what they've done to you," the voice said. It took him a moment, but recognition soon washed over the teenage boy. For the first time since he was captured, Stiles felt invulnerable.

  
"Mom." He breathed out in relief.

  
No sooner than the words were spoken, she was there. Stiles looked at her with tears in his eyes, his heart aching. The dark haired woman smiled, a beautiful thing that only a mother could possess.

  
Gently, Claudia Stilinski brought a hand forward and rested it on her son's cheek. Like the collapsing of a dam wall, tears spewed out of Stiles eyes, and wretched, violent sobs escaped his throat. "My baby boy," Claudia whispered, grabbing Stiles' face in her hands and resting her forehead gently against his. "What have they done to you?"

  
Stiles cried and cried until he could do so no more, the warmth of her touch, of _his mother's touch_ wrapping around him like a fire engulfing a satin cloth. His concentrated tears burned his face, and his dying body could barely hold on. His mother held him tighter, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, holding on to his fragile, bony form. Suddenly, there was no more pain.

  
"I want to die." Stiles told his mother, resting his head as much as he could on her shoulder. "Mommy, I want to die. I _need_  to. I- I can't do this anymore. I don't want to hold on."

  
"Awe, honey," Claudia cooed, pulling back. Stiles looked into her eyes and smiled. She was just as he remembered her, with long flowing black hair and deep brown eyes. He felt her love overpower him, and at that moment, Stiles knew. "It's not your time yet."

  
His face fell, all hope in his chest diminishing into dust. "But, but that's why you're here, isn't it?" He asked in a desperate sob, sounding like a confused toddler. "To take me away? To take me with you?"

  
Claudia laughed slightly, but it sounded sad. "Stiles, I'm dead." She told him, and Stiles wished she hadn't. "You're hallucinating from the hunger." She spoke gently, her hand still caressing his cheek. "That's why you can speak. That's why it doesn't hurt."

  
And for the first time, Stiles noticed that he felt nothing.

  
"I can't take you with me, darling," she said, her brown eyes pouring into his identical ones. "I wish to God that I could, but it's just not how it works." She sighed, and Stiles held back his sobs. He missed his mother and, now more than ever, longed for her comfort. "I can tell you one thing, baby boy. Good things are coming. I swear to you, love, your suffering will breed great happiness."

  
She turned to leave, and something inside of Stiles ruptured. "No! Mom, please! Don't!" He screamed out after her. She didn't listen, _God_  Stiles wished she had but she _didn't_. "Mom please! Don't leave me here! Take me with you!" Stiles shrieked.

  
His mother didn't comply. She simply turned around when she reached the door and smiled sadly at her son. "It'll be worth it." She promised and as quickly as she had appeared she was gone, leaving nothing behind except for the space she once filled.

  
"No!" Stiles bellowed, crying. "No mommy! Please! Don't leave me." He heaved, his throat dry and his face burning from the inside out. "No! Please, God no! Mommy!" Then, as if all the energy had just been crushed out of him, he whispered in a broken voice: "Please don't go."

  
Stiles wasn't sure how long he had stayed like that, slumped over and defeated, but soon he rose again. Now, he felt the way his tongue couldn't move from Barnes' assault. He felt the tear of his limbs as his body was stretched and pulled apart. He felt the dryness in his eyes and he *swore* he felt the way his body continued to eat itself.

  
He was shutting down, that he knew, but it never stopped _them._

  
"Look who's up," The Man said when he walked in. Stiles had stopped trying to pinpoint the moment he did so long ago. "You had us worried their kiddo. Even had to bring in the medics to make sure you hadn't bailed out on us."

  
Stiles' head shot up at that. From the position he was tied in, he still had to tilt his head up to look The Man in the eyes. The Man smirked at the look of confusion on Stiles face. "Oh, you don't know."

  
He walked until he stood toe to toe with Stiles. The teeanger watched with disgust as the bald headed man lifted his hand and ran it through Stiles long, dark hair. "You've been out for days, Stilinski." The Man said, almost in the way a concerned father would speak to his child. He stroked at Stiles' head in way that would've been comforting if The Man hadn't been the one to pull out Stiles' fingerbones. Stiles recoiled, trying and failing to pull himself out of The Man's touch. "In fact, you missed our 40 day anniversary."

  
His eyes widened. Had he really been here for forty days? The Man, watching his reaction, laughed. "That's right, _son_ ," he said purposely, knowing full well that Stiles' tongue was too busy falling out of his mouth for him to react. "No one's coming for you. Your friends and father? They've probably already buried an empty coffin. You're here, with me, until that useless little heart of yours stops beating."

  
There was a moment, a tiny little second, where Stiles could've sworn he saw a glint of regret in the man's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came.

  
It was then that Stiles, with a feeling of hopelessness, realised he was truly a desperate man.

  
Without struggle, Stiles pulled from his memory that which his mother had made him memorize. Mentally, he began.

 

_Our Father in heaven, hallowed by Your name, Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven._

  
This time, when the door opened Stiles' heard it as clear as day. When the teenager looked up, his energy drained. Barnes was there, holding what looked to be a cattle prod in his metal hand, and a syringe in his flesh one.

  
"Take your time." The Man told him, but didn't exit. Instead, Stiles watched in horror as The Man pulled up a chair from God only knows where, and positioned himself in the corner of the room.

  
The Man opened his belt buckle.

  
Barnes paid him no attention. Stiles gulped loudly as the older man approached him. At this point, he was truly desperate and Stiles tried for the first time, to beg for mercy. He knew he couldn't do so with his dying tongue, so instead, he tried with his eyes.

  
Eyes are supposed to be the windows to the heart, but when Stiles looked into the eyes of James Barnes, he saw nothing but void.

  
Still, he stared him down. Stiles hoped, prayed, _begged_  to whatever God was out there that the man in front of him still possessed his own soul. If there had been any liquid left in his body, Stiles would've cried.

  
Then, miraculously, Barnes stopped.

  
Barnes looked at Stiles with recognition on his face. For a long moment, neither spoke a word. Stiles was still staring, still begging with his eyes. It disgusted him. He was begging his _rapist_ for help, but it didn't matter.

  
There was a long moment, and in that moment a powerful hope swelled in Stiles chest. Bares stared the teen down, but Stiles knew he wasn't looking at him. Stiles knew the look; he was years away, lost in the depths of his own memories. The Man was getting annoyed, he was speaking but Stiles didn't hear a word.

  
The only thing Stiles did was beg. He prayed that his eyes showed the same conviction he felt in his soul, and he swore to whatever deity was out there an eternity of praise of Barnes would stop, _just stop_ everything.

 

"Steve?" Barnes whispered, eyes raking over Stiles broken, bruised face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys guess who The Man is?


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Oh and America... WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?!

Location: The Loft   
Time: 08:45

  
Running a hand through his thick, unruly, hair, Derek let out a sigh.

  
It had been _weeks_ since everything began, since Derek had dragged himself out of bed to take a run through the woods and found out. The images of the demolished car were still fresh in his mind. He couldn't stop replaying everything that had happened.

  
He couldn't get the smell of Stiles' blood out of his mind.

  
Derek slammed his hand on the table, resisting the urge to howl. How could he have let this happen? They couldn't have been three miles from the Hale house and Derek was _there._  He was right there. How the fuck didn't he hear or smell them?

  
A flashing image of Stiles, throat ripped and bones broken, screaming out Derek's name assaulted the wolf's mind.

  
He willed the images away before he could hurl.

  
"It's not your fault, you know?" Scott said, appearing out of thin air. Derek didn't jump but from the way the teen smirked, he could hear Derek's heart race. The older man glared.

  
"I don't know what you're talking about," He grumbled, not meeting the alpha's eye.

  
"Please," Scott said sarcastically, and Derek wondered when _he'd_ taken that on as a coping mechanism. "I can practically smell the self deprecation pouring out of you."

  
Derek paused and wondered when was the last time he took a shower. "You're preaching to me about self deprecation?" He raised a brow. When Scott said nothing, Derek stopped. He looked at the young wolf, not just a glance over, but a proper _look_.

  
Scott's posture was off, he was slouching and his knees were bent; he looked almost as though he were in battle mode. There were bags under his eyes, which said a lot because his abilities allowed him to go days without sleep and not look it. His hair lay uncombed and limp on his head and his clothes looked like they had been effectively worn out.

 

"You look like you've been through hell." Derek commented, moving forward.

  
"Well, it hasn't exactly been easy." Scott said, the bite in his voice softer. Derek hesitated for only a moment before placing what he hoped was a comforting hand on the teenager's shoulder.

  
"We're going to find him." Derek said, and there was enough conviction in his voice that, for a moment, he believed the lie.

  
"I know we are." Scott said, looking down. "The only question it how. We don't know what's happening to him, what he's going through right now. He could be bleeding to death in a ditch somewhere, or- or frozen in a lake, or dying from starvation or being used as some pshyco's test subject." The teen paused, biting down on his lip.

  
"For all we know he could be dead already."

  
"Hey, listen to me." Derek said, gripping Scott by the shoulders. "That's not gonna happen. Lydia's already at her grandmother's lake house, trying to find him. I've called in every favour I have. He can't stay hidden forever. Eventually, something will pop up."

 

There was a long moment of silence, and then... 

 

"How can you be so calm?" Scott asked in a whisper, tears in his eyes. Derek dropped his hands, taking a step back. "I'm serious," Scott huffed. "Stiles is missing, our Stiles, _your_ Stiles, and don't think for a second that I didn't know. You love him, so I don't understand how you can stand here, and be so _rational_."

  
Derek said nothing, he simply turned away from the teenager's burning gaze. Scott wasn't having any of that. He grabbed Derek by his sleeve and spun the werewolf around.

  
Derek saw red. His claws were out before he could stop himself, and as Scott held him, Derek slashed into the teens chest. The beta roared with anger, and distress and _hopelessness_ before grabbing Scott by the front of his shirt and flinging him across the room.

  
"Because I have to be!" Derek growled.

 

From his position on the floor, Scott's eyes glowed red. He growled but made no move to challenge the beta. "Do something about it." Scott said. "Instead of just waiting on your ass for one of your sources to come through, get up and do something."

  
Derek was out the door before he could stop himself.

  
***

  
Location: Unknown   
Time: Unknown

  
Stiles looked the older man in the eye, neither of them blinking. The teen didn't know what to make of his torturers reaction, but that didn't break his focus. He didn't know what he was begging for when he looked at Barnes; all Stiles knew was that he had to do _something._  The blood vessels in his eyes were mapped out on the surface in red, his body too dehydrated to form tears. His face was bruised and broken and he was sure that if he could look in a mirror, a monster would be staring back at him.

  
"Steve," Barnes repeated, but this time it wasn't a question. Stiles gulped, ignoring the burning sensation in his throat.

  
He tried to speak, knowing that it might just be the last thing he did. The pain he felt as he tried to form words was unfathomable. The copper-y taste of blood filled his mouth slowly, as if it were a delicious meal that Stiles was trying to savour. When the teenager did finally speak, it hurt like a motherfucker.

  
"…-h..help.."

  
If it weren't for the pin drop silence of the room, his voice would've never been heard. The word was nothing more than a whisper, a useless utter for salvation, but Barnes had heard it. He _heard_  it and that was enough to give Stiles a glimmer of hope. Because when the boy looked up again, he wasn't met with the emotionless eyes of the Winter Soldier, as The Man had called him.

  
Stiles found himself looking into the eyes of Bucky Barnes.

  
"Oh for fucks sake!" The Man roared, standing up and buckling up his belt. He glared at Stiles angrily, and the amount of pride that beamed up in his chest was immeasurable. "Guards!" The Man called out towards the door, and for the first time since his capture, Stiles could see the light.

  
Not the figurative one, he could literally see light.

  
Brightness assaulted his dry eyes as the door to the cell swung open completely, flooding the tiny room with glorious light. Stiles wanted to shut his eyes, but knew that no good could come of that. So instead, he forced them on Barnes once more, who looked ready to fight.

  
"Get him out of here." The Man said to the guards who had come in. It took a moment for them to respond, and Stiles was certain it was because of him. The state of his body was something for sick, twisted men like the ones in front of him to behold. "The fuck are you waiting for?"

  
That's when everything went sideways.

  
The Man's words seemed to jump start Barnes state of shock, because the moment they were said, the Sargent stood in front of Stiles like a shield. He took on a defensive position, and for the first time since his capture, Stiles was glad for it.

  
The guards came at him all at once. Smart move, but Barnes had a fucking metal arm. The first one hit from the side with a tazor as the second attacked Barnes front. The Soldier grabbed the tazor with his metal hand, and pushed it into the second one's stomach before ripping it from the first one's hand and punching him in the head, knocking him out.

  
The next few were much smarter. They attacked in what looked to be a rehearsed pattern. One grabbed the Soldier's attention with a right hook, and as Barnes blocked the next move, a second kicked him in the leg brought a knee to his back.

  
The third went for the head, trying to force Barnes into submission. It all happened so fast, Stiles barely registered what was happening. All he knew was that when he looked up again, there were five men laying unconscious on the floor and The Man was holding a gun to Stiles' head.

  
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," The Man mocked, and Barnes looked at the gun with wide eyes. "That's not what we trained you for. Do you really want to go back under for this little fucker?" The gun was cocked, and Stiles felt the cold metal pushing into his cranium.

  
"Don't touch him!" Barnes roared, lunging forward and tackling The Man.

  
A round was fired, and Stiles felt an immense pain in his upper abdomen.

 

***

Location: The Stilinski Household  
Time: 9:15

  
 There was a long silence, then, a laugh.

  
Steve looked up at the sound, brows meeting in confusion when his thoughts were confirmed. The sound had come from Natasha. Tony glared at the red headed woman, who had the decency to cover her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound.

  
“Uh, I’m sorry,” Nat said, clearing her throat, but there was still a smile on her lips. Tony’s glare never faltered. “That’s’ impossible,” It was only then that Steve noticed the slight tremble in her smile and the burning emotion behind her eyes. She was terrified. “The Winter Soldier is a myth. It’s what we tell the kids at the Academy at night.” She looked at Clint went she spoke.   
 

Clint looked down, mentally preparing himself before speaking once more. “The bullet casings on the scene were Soviet made. There was no rifling.” Natasha’s face fell.

  
“Someone wanna fill me in on what’s going on here?” Tony asked, and Steve shot Clint a curious look.

  
“Barton?” He called, but the archer wasn’t listening. He had gone pale in the duration of the conversation, as if Natasha’s reaction had been some kind of confirmation. Steve paused, suddenly unsure. Clint, of all people on the team, handled his shock and fear with a stoic expression and a witty side comment. Steve doubted there was anything that could truly frighten the archer. 

  
“He’s a ghost,” Clint stated, leaning on the kitchen table with his hands. “Or at least he’s supposed to be. Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”  
 

“So he’s a front man?” Tony asked. “A guy that SHIELD can just blame their unsolved cases on?”

  
“That’s what I used to think,” Nat said suddenly, stepping forward.

  
“What happened?” Steve prompted, leaning back on the door and glancing around to make sure that the Sheriff was still asleep.

  
“Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot at my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out,” She paused, hesitating before going on, “but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me.” She lifted her shirt to show a nasty bullet wound scar, deep enough that it would’ve been through-and-through and would’ve hurt like a motherfucker. “A Soviet slag, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis.”

  
“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.”

  
Everyone in the room looked up at the sound of the new voice. A man stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was completely emotionless and his eyes were dark, not in colour but with fury.

  
“And you are?” Natasha asked with an amused smirk on her face. Steve wondered how she could keep her voice so calm when she had been fearful moments before.

  
“Derek Hale,” Clint answered for him. All the Avengers turned to look at the archer. “He’s the one who owns the land that the car was found on.” If anyone else saw the way the kid’s shoulders tensed, they said nothing.

  
“If you have a problem with us preserving the crime scene-” Steve began, but the kid cut him off.

  
“No, that’s not it.” Derek said with a straight face. “I- um, I think I can help. If you guys know about this winter soldier guy then-”  
 

“How could you possibly help?” Tony asked sarcastically. Steve raised a brow in surprise, turning to face his teammate.  
 

“Tony-”

  
“Seriously,” he went on, “You’re just a kid. The only thing you could help us with is keeping the car there.”

  
“I can find him through scent.” Derek stated. Steve took a cautious step back, ready to fight if necessary.

  
“What?” Clint was the only one sane enough to ask. The kid hesitated for a moment before looking down.

  
When he looked back up, Steve’s eyes widened. His eyes turned a dangerous blue, his teeth had become fangs, and his nose looked altered. There was hair on his face that wasn’t there before, and it took a second, but Steve saw the claws protruding from his fingertips.

  
“I said I can find him through scent.”

  
A gunshot echoed in the silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't be posting until November 17th ish


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the amazing responce guys. Your comments are what get me to actually write.

Location: The Stilinski Household   
Time: 09:30

  
"Natasha!" Clint roared, quickly disarming the red head. The kid, Derek as Tony's mind supplied, growled angrily at the woman, eyes still fucking glowing red.

  
"Werewolves," Tony commented. "Sure, why not?"

  
The team was interrupted by the sound of a gun being cocked. Everyone turned their head towards the new comer, as he entered the kitchen. The Sheriff didn't even glance at Derek when he pointed his Glock at Natasha.

  
"What the hell?" Clint asked in shock, jaw dropped and head moving between Derek and The Sheriff so fast, Tony was surprised he didn't get whiplash.

  
"Derek, get behind me." The Sheriff ordered with a steely look in his eyes. Shot and bleeding, the kid didn't even think to argue. "And don't you think I should be asking you that?" He asked Clint, not taking his eyes off Natasha, who's hand twitched over her second piece that rested at her waist.

  
"You two-" Steve began but stopped, looking completely confused. Privately, Tony thought he looked adorable. "I'm at a loss for words here, Sheriff. Werewolves?"

  
"Told you, it's not your average missing persons case." Tony said with a bitter smirk.

  
He and Stilinski shared a look, and The Sheriff hesitated before lowering his gun. Steve breathed out a sigh of relief, seemingly pleased that no one else had been shot.

  
"Well, now that that's out of the way," Tony began, looking at Derek. "You still haven't answered my question. Actually you did, but you made absolutely zero sense and I'm a genius."

  
Derek looked between Tony, The Sheriff and the rest of the Avengers, a hand clutching at his thigh where he'd been shot. "Before you almost shot me in the balls, thanks for that," he directed towards Natasha. "I said that I could find him through scent. Wolves have an amazing sense of smell and werewolves even more so." He looked directly at Tony when he spoke again, and for the first time, the billionaire saw the utter helplessness the kid felt in his eyes. "If you have a lead, even a general area, I can find Stiles."

  
No one spoke for a long while, Steve still a little shocked by this whole ordeal, Clint still staring at Derek like he was about to spontaneously errupt into flames (which for all Tony knew was very possible) and Natasha still reaching for her second gun.

  
Tony was the first to break it.

  
"Sheriff, can I have a word with you for a moment? In private?" Tony asked, looking at Stilinski who still looked very pissed. The Sheriff hesitated before nodding. "Clint," Tony said through tight lips. "Why don't you pluck the bullet out of the kid while you wait."

  
As Tony and John left the kitchen, he heard Clint say something along the lines of 'so when you transform, does everything change or-' followed by the unmistakable sound of a slap upside the head. John lead them to a bedroom down the hall that was empty.

  
"Okay, what the hell?" Tony asked the second John had closed the door. The Sheriff sighed and sat down on the bed, dropping his head into his hands.

  
"I wanted to tell you-"

"Then why didn't you?"

" _Okay_ , I should've told you-"

"Damn right you should've-"

  
Tony was silenced by a stern look from the Sheriff and he was reminded of the time when Jarvis had caught him stealing cookies before dinner when he was eight. A deep, unsettling feeling of regret pitted it's way into Tony's stomach when he realised that John had learned it from being Stiles father.

  
"This is Stiles' room, you know?" John asked, leaning back on his arms, looking in front if him. Tony followed his gaze and saw Stiles' desk. He realised that John was staring at picture of Stiles when he was younger, with Claudia's arms wrapped around him.

  
After a moment, Tony looked at the room. What he saw made him smile.

  
The walls were covered in posters, just like in any teenagers room but Tony saw the medium sized AC/DC print out hidden amongst the pictures of pop artists. He looked towards the bed and smirked slightly at the Iron Man and Captain America action figures that Tony was sure were collectables. There was a desk in the corner, a second one a few feet away from the one John was staring at. On it, Tony realized, was a small robot, similar to Dumm-e, in the middle of an ocean of parts and blue prints.

  
He didn't doubt that Stiles was John son, not at all. But in that moment, Tony realized with startling clearity that Stiles was _his_ son too.

  
He had a son.

  
Tony smiled.

  
"I wanted to tell you," John spoke again, and Tony didn't dare interrupt. "But I didn't think it mattered all that much. The only reason I called you was because the wolves couldn't find Stiles. I planned on letting you know about them when we found a good lead, something they could follow, but we haven't."

  
 _Yet_ , Tony wanted to say but it didn't feel appropriate. And wasn't that just a motherfucking kick in the nuts that shattered his little illusion. The likely possibility that they might not even _find_ Stiles, and even if they did Lord only knows what the kid was going through, if he wasn't dead already.

  
It didn't matter that Tony had a son, because he might never have the privilege of meeting him.

  
He didn't voice his fears, knowing full well that The Sheriff was thinking the same thing. So instead he chose to say: "Well I don't blame you. If Pepper had told me that I had a son and that werewolves were real on the same day, I think I might have had an aneurism."

  
The Sheriff looked up sharply at that and Tony's brows met in confusion. Neither man spoke a word and Tony was surprised when John's voice came out shaky as he spoke again: "You didn't know Stiles is your son?"

  
In the thick, suffocating silence that followed, the only sound that could be heard was a shocked gasp from the other side of the closed door.

  
"Damn it, Clint!"

  
***

  
Time: Unknown   
Location: Some place cold

 

When Stiles came to he was confused. It took his brain a long moment before his memories came back to him, flashing against his skull like lightening hitting a tree. The Man, The Soldier stopping, trying to help him, the loud echo of a bullet and white hot pain and then...nothing.

 

Stiles blissfully remembered thinking he had felt Death's kiss, but Fate was stubborn.

  
With extreme pain, Stiles forced his eye lids open. His eyes were still dry and his body still felt as weak and meaningless as ever. He knew that he was probably still being starved: what he wondered was why he was still alive.

  
It took a second for Stiles to realize that he was lying down. His eyes made an attempt to adjust to the light but it felt useless. Every time he tried to look around, he felt as though someone was sandpapering his eyeballs.

  
"Took you long enough."

  
He recognised the voice immediately. Stiles didn't have to look to know that The Man was somewhere near by. His suspicions were confirmed when the blad bastard himself stood in front of Stiles' bed, sneering down at the teen.

  
"You have caused me a lot of trouble, son." The Man said, and Stiles' didn't even recoil at the term. He was so tired, and the bed felt so comfortable (though he was sure it was made from metal and nothing else) that if he died right here, right now, he would die a happy man.

  
"Are you listening?" The Man roared, and suddenly he was right in front of Stiles, pulling his hair hard enough for it to *burn*. "You cost me my best agent. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good, loyal torturer these days?"

  
And at that Stiles' eyes widened. The Man smirked. "Ah yes," he said, his voice snake like. "Sargent Barnes, your only ticket out of here, he's gone and he won't be back for a long, long time." The Man let go of Stiles hair, and the teen saw him dropping a handful of it from his palm. "Looks like it's just you and me now."

  
The Man walked over to the door and locked it. "And trust me when I say I won't be as gentle."

  
***

Location: The Stilinski Household   
Time: 10:22

  
"You have a son." Steve said for what must have been the hundredth time that day, and it wasn't even noon. Tony nodded, still not looking up with his head in his hands. He needed a drink and he needed one yesterday.

  
"Okay, I'll bite." Clint said, leaning further into the couch. "Why didn't you say anything?"

  
"I asked him not to." The Sheriff said suddenly, and Tony glanced up at that. "I figured that we'd be more efficient if you all weren't emotionally involved. Tony is in bad enough shape as it is. I couldn't risk the rest of you being the same."

  
"We're supposed to be a team." When Natasha spoke, Tony did his best to avoid eye contact. This was the last thing he wanted. "We're supposed to trust each other. Tony, you do realise what this means?"

  
"It means that he made a mistake." Steve's voice wasn't loud, but it silenced the quiet bickering between Clint and John. Tony's head shot up, suddenly alert. Steve caught his eye and spoke purposefully. "We've all done it. Playing the blame game and guilt tripping each other won't do anyone any good."

  
He turned to the rest of the team, speaking with the authority that Tony normally hated but today was grateful for. "This doesn't change anything. There's still a teenager out there, missing, and it's still our job to find him." Tony shot the Captain a thankful smile and pretended his stomach didn't flutter when Steve returned it.

  
"Natasha," he looked to the assassin, "Contact Banner and tell him he needs to haul ass. We can use all the help we can get and no one knows laying low like Bruce. If he can figure out how they've been keeping Stiles' away from us, we may have an advantage."

  
Steve turned his attention to Clint, who seemed to have been having a meaningful conversation with The Sheriff. "I need you to contact Coulson." Steve said. "See if the intergalactic communication link has been set up and get ahold of Thor. The people who took Stiles, they've come this far and they won't go down without a fight."

  
He addressed everyone in the room with his next words. "This is all hands on deck. From here on our, it's search and rescue. Call in every favour you have, and bring with you anyone who you deem trustworthy enough to help. We'll find that kid, even if we have to search every inch of the earth."

  
With that the team was off, Natasha leaving to call Banner and Clint to get a hold of Thor. The Sheriff and Derek set off, something about bringing in a few other wolves and letting the deputies know that he won't be coming in.

  
It was just Steve and Tony in the kitchen.

  
"Thank you," Tony said, smiling slightly. "I think he was beginning to lose hope."

  
Steve didn't comment on who Tony meant by 'he'. The Captain simply pulled up a chair and sat down beside Tony, resting his chin on his hand. "Don't think you're off the hook." His words were spoken lightly, almost jokingly, "I'm still a little peeved that you kept this from me."

  
Tony looked up, expecting Steve to correct himself. Instead, he was met with Steve's piercing blue gaze and a warm, comforting smile. "I mean," Steve continued. "I can understand why you kept it from the team, I just figured..."

  
"What?" Tony asked, looking into Steve's eyes and feeling comforted for the first time since he saw the paps.

  
Whatever Steve was about to say was cut off by a loud, booming voice.

  
"Congratulations, Son of Stark!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you wanted me to have Bucky save Stiles, but it just doesn't line up with my plans. Also, to the writers of teen wolf 
> 
>  
> 
> I AM THE ONLY ONE THAT GETS TO MAKE STILES SUFFER


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda forgot to update... I'm so sorry!

Location: New Avengers Headquarters   
Time: 23:47

Silence echoed throughout the room. The only sound that could be heard was the deep growls coming from Derek, and Thor's footsteps as he circled the beast.

  
"Say that again," Derek said, barely restraining himself from digging his claws into the God's throat. "I dare you." In front of him, Thor swung mjolnir in his hand, ready to strike if necessary.

  
"I am simply suggesting-"

  
"We know what you're suggesting." Thor was interrupted by the sound of Scott's voice, dripping with anger. "And I strongly suggest that you keep your suggestions to yourself." Scott was in full alpha mode, his eyes dangerously red and his fury barely contained.

  
"You cannot truly believe that there is no truth behind my words." Scott growled, a deep, fierce thing that no one would believe him to be capable of. "It has been over fiifty of your days and Hiemdall sees all. He has no seen your friend, not since his capture, and while it is a most unpleasant thought, it is not illogical."

  
"Stiles is alive!" Derek howled, barring his teeth. In his mind, he knew that he couldn't completely deny Thor's words, but his heart refused to accept them. He felt power in his chest, power that he hadn't felt since he lost his alpha status. "I would know it if he weren't. He's hurt, but he's alive."

  
"I don't doubt the strength of your bond." Thor said carefully, holding his hand out as though it could physically stop Derek from moving. "But the evidence is overwhelmingly working against you. I do not wish to be the one to tell you this, but you may have to entertain the possibility that your mate is-"

  
Scott never let the God finish. Sooner than anyone realised, the wolf inside of him burst with anger, and Scott charged towards Thor at full speed. The God tossed mjolnir in his hand and swung it forward in a deep thrust just as Scott reached him.

  
The wolf collided with the hammer and went flying back. In that moment, Derek stepped forward, ready to pouce. He ran, attacking Thor from the side and digging his claws into the God's arm just as Their attempted to bring mjolnir crashing into Derek's back.

  
The hammer fell to the ground, and Derek grabbed on to Thor's other arm, digging his claws in. He roared in anger, and Thor twisted his arm out of Derek's grasp. He grabbed the brunette by the shoulder and shoved him backwards, but Derek saw it coming. The werewolf grabbed on to the front of Thor's armour, and pulled him down.

  
"That's enough!"

  
Both men stopped at the sound. Thor stood, panting, looming above Derek who was on the ground but looked more powerful than ever. They snapped their head's towards the source of the sound, and saw Steve glaring at them while Lydia attended to Scott.

  
"We can't fight them if we're too busy fighting each other." Steve said, thought his words had no meaning. They had lost their effect after the fourth time, when Tony had blasted Isaac in full Iron Man mode for suggesting they look for gravestones.

  
Derek let out a gruff laugh, but it sounded hysterical to anyone who'd listen closely enough. "Who's them?" He asked, spitting blood to the side. He shoved Thor out of the way and pulled himself up. "In case you haven't noticed, there is no one to fight. We're no closer to finding Stiles than we had been ten days ago when you ass hats showed up."

  
Steve clenched his jaw, unable to argue. It was true. They hadn't made any progress safe for a few false leads and some theories. As the days dragged on without any information, tension grew thick and punches went flying.

  
"Fighting each other won't help anything." Steve tried. "We should be out there, looking-"

  
"You think I don't know that?" Derek snapped, glaring. "You think I don't know that every second I spend in here is a second I could be looking for him? I've searched every inch of Beacon Hills, I've gone to every gritty place you've sent me but Stiles is still gone!"

  
Steve didn't flinch. "So then what? You think the last thing left to do is to attack the only people who are actually helping you?" Steve said coldly. He wasn't immune to the frustration the search had brought along. "Everyone else in this town thinks that kid is dead. They've mourned, they've grieved and they've moved on. We're the last chance you have."

  
Derek growled, but retracted his claws and transformed back into his human form nevertheless. He gave Steve one last burning glare before walking over to Scott and crouching down next to the kid.

  
"He okay?" He asked Lydia, a finger going to check Scott's pulse. Privately Derek hoped the teen had some kind of injury, if only to force him to rest for a bit. As of late, Scott had been burning the candles at both ends. Derek knew it wouldn't be long before the kid passed out from pure exhaustion.

  
"I'm fine." Scott grumbled, rubbing at his head. Derek and Lydia took a step back as Scott pulled himself to his feet, irritated. "And I don't need you watching me like some kind of guard dog."

  
"Don't pick a fight you can't win." Lydia warned lowly, her words sending a shiver up the teenager's spine. Scott looked between Derek, Lydia and Steve who was still standing some feet away before ultimately deciding it wasn't worth it.

  
"I'm gonna go see what Isaac's got." He mumbled, pushing past Derek and making a show of knocking again his shoulder. Derek didn't say anything, but Lydia made an annoyed sound.

  
"What's going on with McCall?" Clint asked, walking in with Tony and Natasha on his tail. They had gone to check out a lead, but it wasn't a very strong one and by the looks on their faces, didn't pan out. Steve gave a shrug.

  
"He's on his man period." Lydia suggested, taking a seat at the lounge. If anyone noticed the way the couch in front of her was completely askew, they didn't say anything.

  
Since Steve had called everyone in on the opp, the Stilinski Household was no longer large enough to house all the Avengers. Much to Steve's dismay, Tony decided to purchase a large piece of land in the area and transform it into an amazing but temporary headquarters for their operations.

  
"We're all whined up pretty tight." Clint reminded her, taking a seat next to the strawberry blonde. Tony and Natasha made their way to the infirmary, which in reality was just a couple of sick beds and some basic first aid supplies. It seemed to do the job for the time being. "Cut him some slack."

  
"I would if didn't act like such a petulant child all the time." Lydia commented, crossing her legs and looking into the window, which was slightly cracked. "We're all worried about Stiles and it's not like Scott's making it any easier."

  
"Well, Stiles is his best friend," Clint went on. "They've known each other since they were kids. I'd be the same if Bobbie went missing, probably worse." Lydia didn't ask because she knew it was none of her business. Clint was grateful for that as he stretched his arms out over the back of the couch. "I mean, look at Tony. He only found out he had a kid a two weeks ago, never even the guy, and he's losing his mind finding him."

  
Lydia paused, turning her head to face Clint. "Wait," she said and Clint glanced at her. "You're telling me that Mister Stark didn't even know Stiles is his kid until this whole mess?" She asked him. Clint nodded and could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

  
"Yeah," Clint said slowly, not wanting to break her train of thought. "What are you getting at, Martin?"

  
For a long moment, Lydia didn't say a word. Then, her eyes lit up with something Clint hadn't seen in them for days - hope. "We've been going about this all wrong." She told him. "Gather the team and make sure The Sheriff is there. I think I might have an idea."

  
It wasn't longer than five minutes later that everyone had been called together, a small buzz making it's way around the room. They were gathered in he common area, which was a passage way away from the lounge and held a large dinning table with enough seats to fit the team. Thought no one ate there and no one was sitting down.

  
"What did you get, Lydia?" Tony asked her. She held up a finger.

  
"Not yet." She said. "We're still waiting on The Sheriff and we need him to be here for any of this to make sense." Tony reluctantly snapped his mouth shut. It was a skill Lydia possessed that Clint was beyond jealous of.

  
"This better be important." John said as he walked in. The Sheriff's Station was a while away from their new setup, and John didn't like traveling back and fourth. No one said it, but they all knew he was never in a state of complete sobriety since this whole ordeal, and no one liked the risk of John driving drunk.

  
"It is." Lydia said, motioning her head towards the Sheriff's unofficial seat. When he took it, a few others sat down as well. "For the last two weeks we've been trying to track the Winter Soldier's movements, right?" She began, looking towards the Avengers.

  
"But, so far we've come up with nothing." Privately, Clint thought the reminder was a little unnecessary bit didn't think to interrupt her. "I think we've been doing this wrong. The Soldier is a ghost, you said it yourself. There had to be others before us that have tried to find him." She looked to Natasha when she spoke. "But no one ever did."

  
"Where are you going with this?" Derek asked, getting a little impatient. Lydia shot him The Look and he was silenced immediately.

  
"I've been going over The Winter Soldiers previous sightings." She said, opening a file out on the table. "The nuclear scientist in Iran, the Russian Mafia boss, JFK," she listed, pointing to each picture. "You wanna know what they've got in common? Absolutely nothing."

  
"So he's a hit man." Steve said, putting the pieces together. "A gun for hire."

  
"Which means there's someone behind the gun." Natasha said, catching on. "Someone who's calling the shots. He's hasn't taken Stiles by his own accord, he's been hired to."

  
"And if he's been hired, then he's probably being paid." Tony declared, already reaching for his laptop. "And where there's money, there's always a trail. Thanks Martin, looks like you're not just pretty after all."

  
"That's not all." Lydia said, hesitating. Everyone looked up at that, all eyes falling to the teenager as she tried to word out her thoughts. "Clint told me that you didn't know Stiles is your son until now." Tony pointedly ignored the looks he got from Scott, Isaac, Derek, Jackson and Allison.

  
"Yeah, and?" He asked, feeling uncomfortable.

  
"If you didn't know," Lydia tried. "There can't be a lot of people who did. We've already established that Stiles was taken because the Winter Soldier wanted to get to you, but if it's not the Soldier that's calling the shots..."

  
"There aren't a lot of people who could be." Tony breathed out, looking at Lydia like she had just shown him the map to Atlantis. He turned to John. "We already know that Pepper knew, and that she got Claudia to not tell me. I can call her and figure out who else."

  
"There was one other person who knew about Claudia being pregnant." The Sheriff said. "But it doesn't help much. He's been MIA for months now and his kids are the last people I want to bother with this crap." Tony nodded, silently asking for him to continue. "Claudia's brother, Bruce Wayne."

  
"You fucked Bruce Wayne's sister?"

"Bruce Wayne is Stiles uncle?"

"What the hell?"

"Great, Sheriff, any more billionaires you know that you wanna tell us about?"

  
The shouts echoed throughout the room, and were only silenced by the sound of John's voice once more. "That's not all." The Sheriff said, leaning forward. He glanced towards Tony, sighing slightly before speaking once more.

  
"Claudia once told me that, when she spoke to Pepper, there was another person always present." Tony prompted him to speak, but the Sheriff looked hesitant. "I don't know how his helps, but she said he was your then right hand man. Obadiah Stane."

  
"That's why you assumed I knew." Tony said, nodding to himself slightly. There was a moment of silence where an understanding came over the two men, but reality broke it. "Doesn't matter though. Stane's dead and has been for years."

  
"Well..."

  
Everyone looked at Natasha when she spoke. Clint glared. "Nat-" he warned, but Natasha didn't seem to care.

  
"It could help." She told Clint before turning to the rest of the team. "After that whole incident when you first became Iron Man," she began. "After the explosion, Stane survived but barely so. He was taken to a S.H.I.E.L.D. health care facility and recruited for strategic purposes. He did his bit for the crimes he committed and left with a new identity. He's been laying low ever since."

  
"And how long ago was this?" Tony asked, his voice completely calm. Clint held his breath.

  
"I'll have to check the database, and maybe with Coulson because I doubt I have that kind of jurisdiction but-" His babbles were silenced by a glare from Tony. "He finished his time around two months back." He stated and wanted to slap himself for not realizing it earlier. Tony looked at the archer, a mix of emotions flashing across his face with one dominating over the rest - betrayal.

  
"Excuse me." His voice shook when he spoke, but no one said a word. Tony stormed out of the room, out the front door, away from it all. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see straight. Emotions struck him one after the other, hitting like powerful strikes of lightening, unforgiving.

  
He was angry - no, he was furious. And to think, Natasha had been the most upset when she first found out about Stiles. Tony felt the worst kind of betrayal brewing in his chest, but that was no match for the hatred that roared in his ears.

  
Obadiah Stane was alive, and he had Tony's son.

***

Location: The Stane Mansion   
Time: 07:45

  
Obadiah Stane reclined himself on his lounger, a glass of champagne in his hand. It might be a little early for a drink, but today he was celebrating. Today makes the start of his new legacy.

  
A soft thump was heard from below, the sound of a body hitting the ground. Stane smiled to himself, knowing that, with The Soldier reset to it's original programming, nothing could possibly go wrong. He reached for his cell phone, dialing a familiar number and waiting for the ring.

  
"Stane, oh thank God." The voice on the other line said in relief. Obadiah immediately knew that something was wrong. "I was just about to call you. We need to talk."

  
"What happened?" Stane growled, annoyed that his victory lap was being interrupted.

  
"There on to you." His heart clogged in his chest. "Coulson made a call this morning, asking about when your contract finished and where you were. They know." There was a hesitant pause on the other line before the man continued. "Stane, Stark knows that you're alive and he's coming for you."

  
Obadiah smiled, a cruel little thing. Finally, after all these years. "Let him come." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do I get a beta reader?


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pay attention to the Time and Location bars or this might get a little confusing

Location: Somewhere Above the Pacific Ocean   
Time: Messed up

  
"We'll find him, Tony." The Sheriff told him as he sat beside the billionaire, eyes distant. "You know we will."

  
"Yeah, the only question is how." Tony muttered, not looking John in the eye. They both knew the facts. It had been more than a month since Stiles was taken, and Obadiah Stane was an evil man on a good day. Tony dreaded to think what the child had been suffering through, what _his_ child was probably still suffering through.

  
The team had worked pretty fast after Lydia's discovery. Tony seriously considered hiring her as his new PA, you know, because he was definitely reclaiming his company after everything with Pepper. Clint made a call and they found Stane's mansion in minutes. Tony was disgusted to find it had been the same one he had used when Tony was just a child; the one he had spent Christmases at and had fallen asleep on Uncle Obie's lap in.

  
Steve thought it would be best to divide into three groups. The first, Team Retaliate, consisting of Tony, The Sheriff, Derek, and Thor, would go in directly so that Tony could speak to Stane (Tony had argued this non stop but, as always, Steve was right)

  
The second group, Team Recon, consisting of Clint, Banner, Scott, and Natasha, would be around the area, watching. After Tony would leave, they'd remain behind. If Stane really did have Stiles, a visit from his old business partner would scare him enough to do something irrational.

  
At least, that was what they were hoping for.

  
The third group, Team Delta, consisting of Steve, Allison and Lydia, were going to stay on the AvengeJet, which would be hidden amongst the trees. They would observe, and if necessary make a decision.

  
Everyone was to remain in contact with each other at all times. Any information they received was to be passed back, and no one would act unless it was under Captain America's orders.

  
Recon had left first, immediately after the plan had been thought up. They took cover at an abandoned building near the Stane Mansion and were currently watching his moves. So far, they had yet to send anything back safe for the fact that they arrived there unharmed and unnoticed.

  
Team Retaliate and Delta were still in the Jet, and tension was running high.

  
"Any word from Recon?" Derek asked as he returned from his visit to the pilot. Tony was certain that Steve had threatened him with death to force the kid away.

  
"Not yet." Allison said. Tony had forgotten she was sitting right there. "But nothing seems to be blaring any alarms. They're probably just keeping a close eye on Stane."

  
"They better be."

  
***

Location: The AvengeJet   
Time: 07:52

  
From his seat on the jet, Steve glanced out of the window. The sky was dark, gloomy, and matched the mood perfectly. Steve almost laughed. "Team Retaliate?" He asked over the intercoms, watching the empty grass fields shown by the monitor.

  
"In position." The quick, short reply came from the Hale kid. Steve gave the affirmative to continue forward.

  
He didn't know why he was being so tense. This mission was simple recon. They were just here to watch and gather information. He had dragged Thor and Banner along only in the case of emergency. There was nothing more to be done, and he knew that.

  
But why then, did he feel as though he had just send his team into a war zone?

  
"Recon?" He asked over the comm. His gut plummeted when he was met with silence. "Recon? What's your status?" Once again, Steve Rogers was met with a deafening silence.

  
Nothing ever did go as planned with the Avengers.

  
***

Location: The Stane Mansion   
Time: 07:52

  
"Let's go." The team looked amongst each other and nodded. It went without saying that Tony would lead the team in, followed by The Sheriff, Derek and Thor taking up the rear. The men moved forward silently, and Derek almost scoffed as Tony walked straight up to the front gate and rang the bell.

  
"Do you have an appointment?" The voice on the other side of the intercom that separated the Team from Obadiah Stane asked, sounding impatient.

  
"Tell Stane it's Tony." The billionaire said without missing a beat. The was a pause, wherein no sound was heard and then much to everyone's surprise, the gate came open.

  
Tony simply shrugged and walked forward. They were lead through a door by a group of men, moving fluidly. Everyone seemed to be at complete ease from the outside and it wasn't until they were forced to come to a stop, had the panic truly begin to set in.

  
"Empty your pockets." The guard in front of the next door, which was the only way forward, instructed coldly. Tony glanced to the other members of the team. He had left his Iron Man suit on the Jet, ready to be called if needed. Derek was a werewolf and by default didn't really need to be packing any fire power. Thor had followed Tony's example, knowing that he too could call mjolnir to him if the time came.

  
The only one who really had something to worry about was the Sheriff.

  
Tony would've missed it if he hadn't been watching John very carefully. Quietly, Thor had reached behind the Sheriff and pulled his gun out of the waistband of his jeans.

  
"Alright." Tony finally agreed, pulling out his phone, wristwatch, some mints, a wallet and a few other things. The others followed his lead, safe for Thor who took a step back.

  
"I said empty, bug guy." The guard said, reaching for his gun. Thor hesitated, before emptying out the contents of his pockets, but leaving the gun tucked safely away.

  
"Search him." The guard decided after a moment. A second guard stepped forward and began to pat Thor down. The God tried to look slightly worried when the he pulled the gun from Thor's waistline.

  
"Well, well, well." The guard said, "What do we have here?" The man glanced back at Tony, Derek and The Sheriff before giving them a slight nod. "You three continue forward. I'd like a word with this one."

  
Tony didn't even hesitate. He began marching forward, already knowing his way around the house. He knew where Stane would be, and by God did Tony feel like an idiot for not putting the pieces together before.

  
"He gonna be alright?" The Sheriff asked, coming up behind Tony. The billionaire shrugged.

  
"He's a Norse God." He said simply. "What's the worst they could do to him?"

  
As if on cue, the sound of a body hitting the ground, followed by the unmistakable woosh of mljonir soaring through the air echoed in the hallway. "Run?" Derek asked, already on his toes.

  
"Yeah, run." Tony agreed, taking the lead and guiding the group down the hallway and past three different turns. However, a moment later he came to a stop so abruptly, it had the werewolf behind him slamming into his back.

  
"What the hell?" Derek muttered, but Tony wasn't listening. His eyes were focused on the man in front of him.

  
"Stane." The single word rolled off Tony's tongue like poison. The man in question sat lounging on a white couch, two heavily armed and angry looking men at his side. Mentally, Tony named them Vincent and Jules.

  
"Tony, my boy!" Stane greeted joyously, as if he didn't know the reason for Tony's visit. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. You know, for a genius, you've got a pretty thick skull. I blame it on your-"

  
Who he blamed it on Tony would never know, because the next second he was charging forward. It didn't matter that they were out gunned and probably out manned. Tony grabbed Obadiah by the front of his shirt and there a solid right hook to his jaw.

  
"No, no." Stane said, just as his guards cocked their guns. Tony didn't need werewolf hearing to know that there were more coming. "No need for that. See, Tony over here is gonna let me go. He's going to walk out the front door, and tell his team back on the jet to fall back."

  
"Now why would I do something like that?" Tony asked in a menacing tone, one that Tony himself didn't know he was capable of.

  
"Why don't you ask your werewolf friend over there?" Stane gave a vague gesture to Derek, who had gone deathly pale, and not because of the thirty two men who were now pointing their guns at him. At Tony's confused look, Stane smirked. "Did you really think the government was using all it's firepower up so quickly because of humans?"

  
"You son of a-"

  
"Stiles was here." Derek said, subtly taking in a deep breath. Tony's grip on Stane's shirt tightened. The Sheriff, who had been quiet since he saw Stane, watched Derek's facial expression carefully. Derek knew that smell, the smell of blood and sweat pouring out desperation, not a single dropplet of hope and, mixed amongst it the foul odor of...

  
semen and metal

  
"What did you do to him?!" Derek roared, leaping forward and grabbing Stane, effectively pushing Tony out of the way. His eyes glowed a cold, dangerous blue and Tony knew that Derek wouldn't hesitate to slit Obadiah's Stane's throat tonight. "Tell me where he is, you bastard!"

  
Stane bellowed.

  
"Oh I don't think you're in any position to be making demands right now, little boy." Stane laughed, spitting blood to the side from Tony's punch. He gave a motion and Stane's guards held their fire. Derek had Stane pinned against the floor, and Tony knew that he could kill him with one swift movement of his hands.

  
"Am I now?" Derek asked, pressing his knee down on Obadiah's throat.

  
"Oh, howdy Sheriff," Stane said, almost as if he were just noticing Stilinski standing there now. His eyes glinted with something that Tony could only describe as joy. "How's the wife?" He asked then smirked. "Oh, that's right. Well, if you ask me, the little whore got what she deserved."

  
"Where's my son?" The Sheriff asked with a dangerously calm voice.

  
" _Your_ son?" Stane echoed, disappointed that the Sheriff hadn't taken the bait. "Now, isn't that funny. I was under the impression, that you were the one who fucked Claudia." He looked to Tony, who was shaking with the amount of fury bottled in. "Well, I guess you weren't exactly dad of the year material. I can see why Pepper asked me to do it."

  
"Where is he?" Tony asked, his resolve still firmly in place. He could see Stilinski's clenched jaw.

  
"I wasn't surprised when Pepper came to me. Poor little thing, thought she was doing what was best for the kid." His voice was even, as if the weight of a 200 pound werewolf wasn't baring down on his throat. "Course, I had to take care of it. God only knows what that kid would've gone through if it had stayed with you. I'm sure you know by now, I offered Claudia the money, little twat told me to fuck off, said that her baby wasn't for sale. I would've raised it, you know? Taken it in, groomed it to its full potential. A Stark with all the brains and none of the mouth. I wouldn't have needed you anymore."

  
"You're psychotic." The Sheriff said, jaw clenched.

  
"Oh, Johnny boy you have no idea." Stane replied with a crooked smile. "I figured they'd be others, some more willing. Honestly, I was surprised that Claudia was the first girl you knocked up. I would wait." He paused, disgusted. "But then, I got tired of waiting and you decided to not get killed and threw me into an explosion. God I hated you for that." He smirked. "So what better way to get back at you, then killing the son you never knew you had? The Invincible Iron Man couldn't save his own first born. Imagine the headlines."

  
"He's not dead." Derek said lowly, putting more pressure on Stane's jugular.

  
"Not yet." Stane said. "But if you kill me, he will be. See, I'm a businessman and I take precautions. The Bastard isn't here, and if don't contact the holding cell in the next ten minutes, there'll finally be something real to put in that empty cofffin. You'll never find it on time."

  
"Let him go."

  
The order came from the Sheriff and Tony held back his surprise at that. With reluctantcy, Derek lifted his knee off of Stane's neck, taking a slow step back. He smirked at them, an evil little thing. Stane stood, leisurely, smiling at the team who were now being handcuffed by Stane's guards.

  
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be."

  
***

Location: 30 feet north of The Stane Mansion   
Time: 07:45

  
"So how much of your human consciousness do you retain when you're transformed?" Clint asked noisily, leaning over the arm rest of his chair to get a good look at Scott. The teenager sighed.

  
"It's not that straight forward," he tried to explain. "At first, it's kinda like you lose control completely. You're not you anymore. Eventually, you learn to get a handle on it." Scott thought back to those first few full moons, all the horrible shit he had put Stiles though. It made his stomach churn. 

  
"Can I see your eyes again?" Clint asked and Scott growled at him, bouncing his leg up and down. The archer raised his hands in defeat. "Yeesh. Sorry. Touchy subject?" The question earned him a pointed glare from Natasha and Clint sunk down further into his seat.

  
"This is useless." Natasha said, looking away from her post. For the last twenty minutes, she had been perched delicately atop a window sill, her eyes glued on the house via her binoculars. She had just relieved Clint of his duty, much to Scott's dismay, and had seen absolutely nothing. "We should be out there, doing something."

  
"Well what did you think we'd do?" Clint asked. "Run in there, guns blazing and force the truth out of Stane?"

  
"That idea's actually not half bad." Scott commented, looking outside. He hadn't smelt anything off, and with the amount of talking that was going on within the warehouse, he didn't hear anything either. It was off putting, but this was the closest they had come to finding Stiles in weeks. "Maybe we could get shot in the process."

  
"You alright, kid?" Clint asked, sharing a look with Natasha leaning back. "I mean, I know I've been buggy with my questions but..." He trailed off, glancing at Scott's leg which was still bouncing up and down.

  
"You need some rest." Natasha interrupted, cold and straight forward as always. Scott shrugged.

  
"I'm fine," he mumbled, eye's focused on the window in front of him.

  
"Yeah, that's a lie." Clint continued. "You've been working for hours on end. You haven't been sleeping and don't try to justify yourself. You-"

  
"I said I'm fine." Scott growled, eyes flashing red. "Be quiet."

  
"Well, you did say you wanted to see his eyes again." Natasha commented off handedly. Suddenly though, she was interrupted.

  
"I said quiet," Scott said, whispering. It took them a second to realise it, but Scott was clearly listening for something. "Check outside," he told Natasha, "Something's happening."

  
Nat did as she was told, taking her post by the window up again. "There's a car." She was able to gather. "It's parked outside. The door's opening and-" Suddenly, she cut herself off.

  
"And what?" Scott asked, unable to focus due to his sheer exhaustion. However, a moment later, a very familiar smell twisted through the air. Scott barely caught it, but once he did there was no denying it.

  
Stiles' blood.

  
"They're moving."


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. I hope everyone's had a nice Christmas and I hope that, in a few days, we all say goodbye to this shitfest of a year.

Location: Heading East, Stane Mansion   
Time: 08:03

  
"Keep up." Scott told the driver of the car through his intercom, almost forgetting that it was there. He barely spared his surroundings a glance, his attention focused entirely on the vehicle in front of him. With every step he took the scent became clearer and clearer but it didn't fill him with hope like one would expect.

  
The closer he got to the vehicle, the more definite the scents became. Soon, Scott could distinguish, amongst the mingling odours of the men on board, the undeniable miasma of blood, both fresh and stale, tangled together with dirt, sweat and semen.

  
Quicker than he could prevent, images of what Stiles might have gone through flashed across his mind. Scott was assaulted with disturbing images of his best friend being tortured, forced fed poison, humiliated, _raped_.

  
Behind him, Clint doubled down on the accelerator to try and keep up.

***

Location: Unknown   
Time: Unknown

  
Stiles didn't know where they were taking him, but at this point what did it matter? He knew how this would end; with his brains splattered across a rock in some lonely part of the woods, his body left there for some strays to feed on.

  
He didn't bother trying to hide the relief he felt.

  
Still, the teen thought bitterly, there were so many things he would never get to accomplish. He'd never graduate high school, though he had the credits to so at the end of last year. He'd never marry or adopt or give his dad grandkids. He'd never see Scott again, never know what it would feel like to have Lydia's lips pressed against his, or Derek's for that matter.

  
He'd never know his real dad.

  
That part struck him. A long time ago, Stiles had decided that he wanted nothing to do with his biological father. Now though, as he was being driven to his execution, he couldn't help but wonder.

  
 _Huh_ , Stiles scoffed, _leave it to me to come to regret what was probably the only right decision I've ever made._

  
The teenagers thoughts were interrupted when the car stopped moving. In the distance, Stiles could hear the sound of other cars, of heavy footsteps a while away. He figured they were in a public area, or somewhere not far from one.

  
"Here." Stiles looked up at the sound of the voice. It took him a moment to realise that it was a woman's, and that she held something in front of her. Stiles looked down, and to his shock, found a set of clothes in her hands.

  
He looked back up at the woman in confusion, and for a second Stiles swore he saw something akin to sympathy in her eyes. The woman ignored the comments from the other people in the van and quickly worked to pull the clothes onto Stiles' broken body.

  
It hurt, Stiles thought. It burned like pouring gasoline onto open flesh and lighting it on fire, but at least he could die with some of his dignity spared. It wasn't long after, or maybe it was, that Stiles was being forced out of the van.

  
The men tried to haul him up but it was unnecessary. Slowly, but steadily, Stiles made it to his feet and began walking. He knew what was about to happened, and he'd rather walk on his damaged, broken legs with his swaying head held high to his execution than be dragged there by the men who raped him.

  
The sun was too bright, although it had barely peeked its head. Stiles took a moment to adjust his eyes, but it didn't help. They still burned. His body still hurt like a motherfucker, but for whatever reason he felt numb.

  
Stiles didn't know what to make of this. The smell of fresh air wasn't one he thought he'd come across again. He was sure that he'd die in his prison cell, forgetting what the sun looked like. It was nice, he concluded. He looked at the forest around him with startling clarity, seeing every detail even though he'd lost his contacts ages ago.

  
Stiles stumbled when they made him stop, and for a moment he simply looked out in front of him. He felt something, something he had thought had died with his mother all those years ago, deep down inside of him.

  
He felt at peace.

 

The place they brought him to was some kind of forest. He could feel the wet grass underneath his feet. It was barely morning, and the sun had almost risen. Stiles wondered if they would wait, if they would let him see one last sunrise. God knows it had been long enough.

  
If the men and women around him spoke, Stiles didn't hear it. Not that he wanted to. Briefly, he was thankful. At least he could die here, where his body could be left for nature to take over instead of for those sick bastards to use as a science experiment.

  
They pushed him forward and forced him to kneel. His eyes twitched and protested when he forced them upwards to look, but Stiles thought it was worth it. He didn't know where they were, but from here he could see the stunning beauty of a sky almost painted in sunlight, could hear the sounds of birds chirping close by, could smell the fresh grass and trees and the cologne of nature.

  
All in all, out of every cruel, horrible ways he'd imagined them finally snuffing him, he thought this was merciful.

  
"Last words?" The same woman from earlier asked. Stiles looked to see her standing at his side, staring down at him.

  
He imagined what he might look like, nothing but skin and bone, a disgustingly pale canvas covered with purple, blue, green and red with deep cuts all around. His hair must've grown out somewhat and during the first few weeks, he'd felt stubble on his face. His eyes were quite swollen, his lips torn and bloody, his face thin and scattered with bruises. He knew the clothes hid most of it but they couldn't disguise his paper thin frame or misshapen limbs.

  
He wondered if they'd be able to recognize his corpse.

  
The woman looked a little disgusted but Stiles couldn't blame her. He knew he'd have the same expression if looking down at himself. He also knew that despite the kind tone of which her words were offered, Stiles couldn't give his own last words if he tried.

  
So instead he smiled.

  
She hesitated for a moment before nodding to the man behind him. Stiles looked at the sun one last time before his head was forced downwards by the barrel of a gun and his eyes we're covered by a bag being pulled over his head. He relished in it's coldness, finding the touch of metal...relieving.

  
A gunshot echoed and Stiles' body dropped to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. If anyone has any ideas for fanart let me know.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! Guess who's not a completely terrible person and decided to update? It's meeee! Thanks for all your amazing comments. I've written a lot and plan to update much sooner.

Location: Heading East, Stane Mansion   
Time: 08:15

  
Scott stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Natasha and Clint were directly behind them, having gotten out of the car only seconds earlier when Stane's men had stopped and they knew they would be recognised. He was about to take off again, when Natasha put a hand on his shoulder.

  
"Wait." She panted, just a little out of breath. "We need to call for back up. We don't know how many people are out there and we don't have a plan."

  
Scott stared at her for a second, not knowing what to do. He took a deep breath and was relieved to smell Stiles' familiar scent in the air. The only reason he didn't protest was because that was all he smelled. No fear, no worry, almost as if he were asleep, completely at peace.

  
He turned to Natasha and gave a small nod of the head. Nat took him by the arm and pulled the both of them away from the path that had been cleared and into a small crowd of trees.

  
"Rogers, you there?" She asked into the comm, just as Clint almost passed them. He would have if Natasha's hand hadn't reached out and pulled him into their hiding space.

  
"Natasha, thank God." Came the voice of Steve Rogers over the line. "Where are you? Are you hurt?" For a moment, Scott felt a pang of guilt. In the short time he and known Steve, he hadn't so much heard the man say please in a way that wasn't authoritive. Now, he sounded more than a little distressed.

  
"We're fine." Scott said, needing to do something. "We've found him. He was in a car heading into the east end of the forest. Clint left behind some arrows in the trees. Follow the path and you'll find us."

  
"He's right." Clint said. "We need back up. They're heavily armed and we don't know how many they are. If we act now, we can avoid-"

  
"You need to stand down." Steve said calmly.

  
Scott's head shot up and he turned to look and Nat and Clint, both of whom wore identically shocked expressions. Scott felt his heart stop in his chest and he stopped breathing for a second.

  
"No can do, Rogers." Surprisingly, it was Clint who offered the resistance. "We've been looking for this kid for weeks, and he's right here. Like I said, if we act now we could get him out of there with minimal casualties. They aren't expecting us-"

  
"You could." Steve said, but paused. "Or you could end up getting yourselves and a teenager killed. We don't even know if he's really there-"

  
"Look, I know it's him." Scott said firmly, and Natasha jabbed him in the arm. He lowered his voice when he spoke again. "I know his scent, Captain. He's here, I just know it."

  
There was a moment's hesitation, then. "Scott, Obadiah Stane knows about werewolves. He knows that we're working with you. The car you've followed could've been a decoy. They could be waiting for you to attack."

  
Scott could see the logic behind the Captain's words but his brain refused to acknowledge it. Because yes, now that he thought about it, this could just be a decoy to get them killed. But what if it wasn't? What if Stiles really was just a few feet away, in the back of the van?

  
What if, as Scott had previously concluded, he was about to walk away while his best friend was executed?

  
"We have to at least check." Natasha said, but before she could continue, Scott held up a hand.

  
Advanced hearing really was something amazing. He didn't need to look to know that Natasha had muted the comm, or to know that no matter what he did now, both her and Clint would follow him forward. In fact, he barely strained his ears to hear a woman's voice, uttering those few words that made Scott lose all self control.

  
"Last words?"

  
A nod passed between Nat and Clint and an unspoken agreement was made. When Scott practically leapt forward, running blindly into the fray, Natasha and Clint followed, guns blazing with Nat yelling at Steve through the intercoms.

  
They ran faster than Scott thought possible for humans, but they were following him and that's all that mattered. He didn't know how much of his animalistic instinct had taken over to force him to run such a distance in such a short period of time, but he was there.

  
It didn't matter. He couldn't stop it.

  
He froze as a sack was pulled over a face, one he didn't recognise at all. But he knew by scent. He couldn't move and didn't breathe, not until the man's head was being pushed back and the sound of a bullet being fired echoed throughout the forest.

  
Stiles' body dropped to the ground, unmoving.

  
***

Location: The AvengeJet   
Time: 08:15

  
"What did they say?" Allison asked after a beat of silence, wherein no one thought it appropriate to speak. Steve looked up from the mouth piece in his hands, loosening his grip.

  
"I think they're about to go in." Steve said, turning to the rest of the passengers. Lydia watched him, unamused as Tony, Thor, Derek and The Sheriff each attended to their respective wounds. It hadn't taken much for Thor and Banner to get them out of there, but they still sustained minor wounds and injuries. A small price to pay.

  
"I say we follow them," said Allison, looking every bit ready to fight anyone who disagreed.

  
"For once I agree with her." Derek muttered under his breath, holding the ice pack to his cheek for a few more seconds before putting it down. "We can't just leave them there."

  
"We need a plan-" Steve began but was interrupted by Tony's voice.

  
"A plan?" He asked sarcastically. "And how has that gone for us so far? Stane knew we were coming. He's been ten steps ahead of us this whole time and we've been too busy forming _plans_  to notice. You can't-" Tony stopped himself. "We can't just let them go in alone."

  
"Tony's right." The Sheriff began, unable to bite his tongue anymore. "They're outnumbered and outgunned. I don't care how much training your people go through, I can't risk Scott getting hurt."

  
"Give me a second." Steve said and the room fell into silence.

  
The Captain knew that he didn't have a choice. While he didn't doubt his team's loyalty, he knew that if he asked them to pull back they wouldn't. Not today. Honestly, if he was in their shoes he would do the same. This was Tony's _son_  they were talking about.

  
On the other hand, it wasn't just them. Now he had Lydia, Allison and the Hale kid to worry about. And that was just what they all were: kids. Steve had been apart of too many wars, had seen too many innocents fall to the ground in lifeless heaps to risk it again.

  
Steve opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the intercom went off and he knew he couldn't stop them if he tried.

  
"We're going in." It was Nat's voice. She sounded as though she was already moving. "The kids headed first, send in back up-"

  
The unmistakable sound of a gunshot and the line went dead. Steve barely glanced up when he grabbed his shield, walking straight to the exit of the jet where he knew two cars were waiting.

  
The others followed behind him, all armed in some way as the filled in to the vans. The location was already set, Steve driving the first and the Hale kid the second. Tony and Thor flew ahead, both in their respective armours and Steve only glanced in the rear view mirror to see Banner hulking out again.

  
If they were gonna die, they'd go out together.

  
***

Location: Forest, East of the Stane Mansion   
Time: 08:21

  
"No!" The sound ripped through the air, echoed off the trees. It was worse than anything Natasha had ever heard, even from begging victims and merciless criminals. It was the sound of total and utter dispair.

  
Natasha surveyed the scene quickly and what she found made her stomach plummet. Scott had begun his assault, his body completely transformed as he attacked guard by guard. Clint fired both arrows and bullets all around and bodies dropped to the ground in loud thumps.

  
But that wasn't what she was looking at.

  
The body was at the edge of the forest, its hand's zip tied behind his back. He was wearing clothes that were much too big for him, that hung over his unmoving frame.

  
She ignored the bullets as she stepped on to the field, walking towards the body with the covered head. The pants weren't buttoned properly, and he wasn't wearing shoes. Nat could tell that he had been emaciated by the blackness of his feet.

  
It was with a delicate touch that she thought she had lost that the red headed woman reached behind the head and pulled the sack off. The sight made her wince. The boy's young, innocent face was bruised beyond recognition. His hair had been torn from the scalp at some places and his mouth still bleed. His eyes were swolled shut and his nose looked broken.

  
She could barely believe that he was just sixteen years old.

  
Around her the battle continued. Clint knew that they didn't stand a chance but that didn't really matter. He'd seen it too. The way the body dropped, they way the poor kid didn't even try to fight it. The Archer wondered how long the kid had been praying for it; for death to take over.

  
Still, he fought with vengeance. Clint fired arrow after arrow at the guards that seemed to line up before him. He paused, shielding himself behind a battered truck to dodge what would've been a fatal shot.

  
Clint turned and fired three times, rewarded by the sound of three bodies hitting the ground. He heard the roar of a werewolf and knew that it would be over soon.

  
But before he could think of how he was gonna fuck Stark from beyond the grave for this, the familiar sound of Mjolnir whooshing through the air filled his ears. He would've smiled if it hadn't been for the dead teenager.

  
With new found confidence, Clint stepped into the open and began firing shots one after the other. Soon, he felt a gun being pressed into the back of his skull and smiled.

  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Clint sang, turning around to face the guy.

  
"Yeah, and who's gonna stop me?" He asked obnoxiously.

  
Clint didn't have to reply because a second later, the guy was flying through the air, a trail of blue fire falling from behind him.

  
"Show off." Clint said as Iron Man landed a few feet away. The pair worked with their backs to each other to take down as many guards as possible. From where he stood, Clint could see Cap and Derek doing the same kind of pair up, Derek ripping people apart with his bare teeth and Cap throwing the shield through them like a Frisbee. The Sheriff was close by, doing damn well with one gorgeous AK-47 and Clint wondered why he hadn't seen the man's talents earlier.

  
A couple of feet away, Thor and Banner were working together to take down the new incoming guards. Thor bashed their heads in with his hammer (not literally) while Hulk...well, smashed. In the distance, he could see Allison taking down men two at a time while Lydia aimed to shoot, and was actually pretty damned good.

  
The battle was over sooner than it started and before Clint knew it, they had won. Their victory, however sweet, was short lived as Tony, who had pulled back the Iron Man mask, spotted Natasha, still leaning over the body.

  
The billionaire was greatful that Clint gave the others a signal to stop. The group had formed somewhat of a circle around the boy, with Stiles at the edge. Tony didn't want to look, but forced his eyes downwards and the sight made his stomach churn.

  
He barely registered it when the Sheriff dropped to his knees in front of the boy, gross sobs wrecking his body. "No!" The Sheriff creied out, clutching on to the shirt that didn't belong to the boy. "No. Not my boy! Not my son!"

  
Tony was too numb for words. There were tears streaming down his face, but that didn't matter. He stopped in front of the boy and kneeled down before him, watching. His eyes were shut, swollen but shut, and his face looked to be at peace. In that moment, he saw it. The shade of pink that was quickly fading from the boy's lips, the pale coloured skin stretched across a familiar looking face, the dark, inky black to his hair.

  
In that moment, Tony looked down and saw the corpse of his dead son and realised it was too late.

  
"Tony."

  
His head snapped up and he looked at Natasha like she was speaking Chinese. The red head held his gaze and spoke again, and Tony saw her lips move, he recognised she was saying something but it just *didn't make sense*. Finally, Natasha took Tony's hand and brought it to the body. He tried to pull away but she wouldn't let him. There, she pressed two of his fingers to the boy's throat, matted with dry blood and waited.

  
And waited

  
And waited

  
Until he felt a tiny little beat.

  
"He's alive." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number of people who thought Stiles had actually died is too damn high


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously guys. You're too sweet

Location: Forest, East of Stane Mansion   
Time: 08:29

  
For the rest of his life, Tony Stark will never know what truly happened in the following twelve hours, despite being present through and having a significant role in all of it.

  
It's Steve, Tony is sure about this, who was the first to come to his senses and get help. He called out to Hill back at S.H.I.E.L.D. who sent in an emergency helicopter that was there within five minutes. They loaded the kid's body up and took him away quickly, without a word. Tony didn't know who exactly pushed him on, but the Sheriff was there too, still crying, still clutching on to his son's hand as though he might evaporate.

  
They ended up in a hospital, one that met S.H.I.E.L.D.'s impossible standards so Tony didn't think to complain. When they landed on the helipad, Tony and the Sheriff were taken as far as the emergency room before a nurse pulled them back and forced them into a waiting room near by.

  
Tony tried to comfort the Sheriff but he'd never been good at those kind of things anyway. Eventually, they just sat in silence after John punched Tony in the face and Tony screamed so loud they called security. Tony spent the last few hours before the rest of the team arrived alone with a bleeding nose, because the Sheriff was in the chapel next door, praying to a God that didn't exist.

  
The Avengers came and went, but there wasn't much anyone could say. Stiles was still in surgery and no one heard anything from anyone. Scott gave Tony an awkward thank you which the billionaire returned with an even more awkward pat on the back. For three more hours he sat there, waiting in an uncomfortable chair before the world decided they'd given Tony enough peace and began to attack.

  
"Where the hell have you been?" It's Pepper who was the first to come looking, but Tony didn't have the stomach to look her in the eye. She spoke about stock markets and ratings and price falls but Tony didn't hear it. Eventually, she left and Tony doubted that she knew why he was here in the first place.

  
It continued like this for eight more hours, people coming in, some speaking, some comforting, and some just irritating. In fact, Tony didn't remember any of it, until the moment Steve walked through the doors.

  
"How is he?" Steve asked, still in uniform and still covered in blood. Tony realised that he must have been out all morning and afternoon putting out fires and signing the right paperwork with Fury breathing down his neck.

  
Tony shrugged.

  
"They didn't say anything?" Steve asked again and Tony nodded. The former seemed to hesitate for a second before pulling up a chair and settling down so that he faced Tony.

  
"There's no way you could've known-"

  
"Yeah, well I should have." Tony snapped, and it was the first words he'd spoken since his row with the Sheriff. "That's the thing, isn't it? We do the impossible every day. You're Captain America, who's over ninety but still looks like a freaking male model. I walked out of Afghanistan because of a robot I made. Hell, there's a fucking Norse God living in my Tower. It's my job to do the impossible, to know what I'm not supposed to know. So how the fuck did I miss this? Huh?!"

  
Tony didn't realize he was crying until Steve stood up and pulled him into his embrace. Tony hesitated before returning it, burying his face in the crook of Steve's neck and crying harder than he had when his mother died.

  
Steve was the first to pull back and Tony almost jumped. He wiped his face quickly, but it didn't matter. He knew Steve would never judge him, never call him out on this. For a moment, neither said a word, and Steve gently raised his hand to rest on Tony's cheek.

  
"He's gonna be okay." Steve lied, and for one, fleeting moment Tony actually believed him.

  
The sound of a cleared throat jarred them both from their trace. Tony looked up to see the Sheriff standing at the door, looking red eyed and tired. "The doctor called me in, figured you should be there too."

  
Tony nodded, an unsaid apology drifting through the air.

***

Location: Williamson Memorial Hospital   
Time: 21:03

  
When John entered the room, he knew what he was going to hear. He glanced around at the paintings on the deep mahogany wall, the furniture that looked a little warn and the key rings on each of the cupboard keys. This place was made to feel homey, comfortable, and the thought made John's stomach drop.

  
"Mr Stilinski." A short, plump nurse with red hair and a motherly look to her greeted, smiling slightly. "Please, take a seat. The doctor will be with you in a moment."

  
John nodded and offered the woman a smile, which she happily returned, before taking a seat. Tony walked in a few moments later, and the nurse, who had been on her way out a second door, paused.

  
"I'm sorry, but immediate family only." The nurse said, not unkindly.

  
"It's okay." John quickly dismissed. "He's the boy's father." He ignored the grateful smile that Tony shot him and chose to instead look to the nurse. The poor woman looked over the file a few times, before giving a hesitant smile.

  
"Of course." She said, then proceeded to leave from the second door. Tony took the seat next to John, though neither man said a word. It wasn't long before John felt the room closing up on him.

  
He could hear the ticking of a nearby clock as though it were in his ears. The water filter in the corner of the room seemed to be dripping obnoxiously and John resisted the urge to scream.

  
"Good evening."

  
The Sheriff quickly snapped his head up at the sound of a voice. Standing behind the desk John sat at was a woman, who looked far too young to be a doctor.

  
"I'm Doctor Helen Cho." She held out her hand to shake which both John and Tony did, before taking a seat. The desk was small, so there wasn't much space between them. From here, John noticed the tell tale signs of a woman who was under a lot of pressure. The implications of that made yesterday's dinner rise up in John's stomach.

  
"I'll get right to it, then." Dr Cho began, shooting them a slight smile. She opened up a file that she'd apparently brought in with her. "Mr Stilinski's condition is the most extreme that I've ever dealt with. When he was first brought in, our priority was to remove the remnants of the bullet from his skull. I'm proud to say that we managed to do so, and it seems that the damage done was minimal."

  
Despite her words, Dr Cho's facial expression remained carefully blank. John hesitated only momentarily before asking. "But?"

  
Dr Cho took a deep breath, sitting up straighter. "I'm sorry to say this, Sheriff, but your son has undergone extensive physical injuries over the past two months. With almost all of it going untreated, it's forced us into a difficult position."

  
"Mr Stilinski has had his bones broken multiple times in numerous places. They have been left to heal at incorrect angles, which has deformed his skeletal system. As a result, his internal organs are now forced into awkward positions, and it's caused quite a problem. His arms and legs have been dislocated from their sockets, likely for weeks on end, and while we have attempted to rectify this, they will most probably require amputation."

  
"I'll give you a minute."

  
John felt his head spin and he gripped the handles on his chair tight. His head felt as though it were about to explode and a thousand and one question passed through his mind, with one most dominant:

  
Why Stiles?

  
He knew the answer was sitting right next to him, looking just as appalled by this new information. John couldn't control the hatred that burned for the man next to him, but a voice in his head continued to chant:

  
_Your fault! Your fault!_

  
_You should've known! Your fault!_

  
_"What else?" John tried not to jump at the sound of Tony's voice. Quickly, he did his best to pull himself together. He needed to hear this, to know what was happening, what they could do about it._

  
"An MRI scan showed that Mr Stilinski had undergone a period of emaciation. He was starved. And as gruesome as it is to consider, this may have worked in our favor. The lack of food stopped his healing process for a while, long enough to reduce the deformation of his bones enough for it to be rectified." John breathed a sigh of relief and Cho hesitated before continuing.

  
"However," she said. "It has also caused extreme damage to his internal organs. Most of this damage is irreversible. Those are our main concerns, but I feel obliged to tell you that, despite your son's vigorous efforts to stay alive, the chances of survival here are minimal. Even if he did some how pull through, the emotional and physical distressed this has caused might be too much."

  
The reality of the situation dawned on Tony in that moment, and he felt his world being shaken.

  
"Now, while we have had confirmation of a liver and kidney that matches Mr Stilinski's blood type to be available, he is too unstable to operate on. But, if we wait for him to stabilize, he might not survive."

  
"So you're saying," Tony's voice was clogged with emotion when he spoke, and he tried to clear his throat. "You're saying that if he gets the operation, right now, he'll die, but if he doesn't, he'll still die."

  
"To be blunt, Mr Stark, there is no logical, proven medical explanation for your son's survival. He should have been dead long before that bullet hit his skull. I don't know if you believe in God, Sheriff, but this could be Him offering you a chance."

  
"A chance to do what?" There was an impossible strain in John's voice and Tony didn't need to look to know that tears were streaming down his face. Dr Cho offered a tentive smile.

  
"To say goodbye."

  
***

Location: Williamson Memorial Laboratories   
Time: 22:47

 

"Doctor Cho!" Tony called out, struggling to keep up. How that woman could walk so fast in heels was beyond his intellect and now wasn't the right time to question it. "Wait up."

  
Tony saw the woman hesitate before doing so. He didn't blame her. Tony knew what he must look like, with red rimmed eyes and a disheveled suit. One could probably mistake him for a drug addict.

  
"Mr Stark?" Cho asked when he stopped in front of her. Tony nodded, taking a second to catch his breath. "I'm sorry about your son, Mr Stark but there isn't anything I can do."

  
"I know." Tony said. "Not in this hospital, at least." Cho shot him a warning look, before glancing around and pulling them both into a secluded room a while away.

  
"Okay, what is this about?" She asked, sounding impatient. Tony took in a deep breath.

  
"You said that there was no _proven_ medical explanation for how Stiles survived this long, right?" Cho nodded, and Tony could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "Come on, Doctor, I know a fellow theorist when I see one. You have an idea."

 

There was a  long moments pause, where in Tony was just about ready to get down on his knees and beg, before Cho spoke again. 

 

"Have you ever heard of the X gene, Mr Stark?" Cho asked and Tony shook his head. "The X gene is said to be the next step in human evolution. It's extraordinary, really. This particular gene is said to be found in random individuals and it gives its host the ability to do or be extraordinary things. Move objects without touching them, control magnetic fields-"

  
"Or bring their host back from the brink of death." Tony mumbled, the pieces fitting together in his head like a puzzle. "How do you know all this?"

  
Cho gave a small laugh. "I've been working for S.H.I.E.L.D. far longer than you have, Mr Stark." Tony was just about to say that he didn't work for SHIELD but Cho interrupted him. "And, as brilliant as this gene is, it doesn't exist. At least, not according to S.H.I.E.L.D. There have, however, been incidents where in people with inhuman-like abilities went missing without a trace, so I suggest you play this one close to the chest."

  
"Thank you, Doctor Cho." Tony said, because honestly what else could he do? The woman gave Tony a slightly smile before going for the door. Just as she was about to exit, a thought came to Tony's mind. "Doctor?" Cho looked up, "Um, theoretically speaking, if this gene could bring Stiles back from the dead, what are the chances of it healing him completly?"

  
"We'll have to wait and see."

  
***

Location: Williamson Memorial Hospital   
Time: 23:06

  
"Hi," Tony said, interrupting a conversation between the Sheriff and a man he'd never met before. "Could I just- could you, um, excuse us for a minute, real quick?"

  
The man nodded and John gave him an apologetic look before walking a few paces away with Tony. "What?" John asked, sounding as though he was barely holding it together. Tony couldn't blame him for that.

  
"I spoke with the hospital staff, trying to get them to let me cover the fees for all of this," John sighed and looked away but Tony forced his attention back on him. "No, no. I'm serious. Consider it a reimbursement for all the times I didn't pay child support if you want. Whatever. They told me that it had already been taken care of."

  
"That's because it has been."

  
The voice that interrupted them belonged to the man with whom John was talking to moments ago. Tony turned to the guy, ready to give him enough sarcasm so that he would fuck off for a bit, but the face that met him made Tony stop.

  
"Tony." John said. "This is Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's adoptive son and Stiles' cousin."

  
Tony stared at the kid for a second, taken back. The kid looked to be only a few years older than Stiles, but had the eyes of a soldier who'd suffered at war. It took Tony a long moment to realize that the kid had a hand held out and was waiting for Tony to shake it.

  
"Right, right." Tony gripped the hand. "Tony Stark, it's a pleasure."

  
"I know who you are, Mr Stark." Dick said, somewhat awkwardly. Tony mentally slapped himself. He was sure that he'd met the kid a while back at one of Wayne's extravagant parties.

  
"What are you doing here anyway? Where's Wayne?" Tony began, because sarcasm was his only defense and looking at a kid who had far too many years of struggle on him just made Tony act out. "Shouldn't you be in bed right now? I thought it was a school night."

  
John outright glared at Tony for that and it was only then that it struck him.

  
This wasn't just some _kid_. This was Stiles' cousin. This was someone with whom Stiles had probably shared his childhood, and some awkward Thanksgiving dinners. This person knew Stiles longer than tony had and he was being a total, excuse the pun, dick to him.

  
"Bruce is a little busy in China, at the moment." Dick said and Tony felt like the worlds biggest ass when he saw that there were tears in his eyes. "I- I'm sorry, about what's happening to Stiles. Uncle John told me he's your son."

  
Tony let out a breath and gave the kid a quick once over. It was late, and Tony was sure that Dick had been here for hours. The kid looked utterly exhausted and just plain sick. He wondered, what with Wayne out of town, who was taking care of him.

  
"Well, you know Stiles." John said, sounding more hopeful than he really was. "If there's anyone who's stubborn enough to survive, it's him." 


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year Everyone! A few of you guys were a little disappointed by the appearance of Dick Grayson and Batman, but guys, I've had this planned since the beginning. Come on. If you don't like dc I suggest that you stop reading because this fanfic will have a lot to do with these characters

Location: Williamson Memorial Hospital   
Time: 21:03

The four dark haired boys sat inside the waiting room, each looking far older than they had the right to. Dick was closest to the door, having just ushered Tony out behind The Sheriff when a nurse came in telling them that, although unconscious, Stiles could be visited by immediate family only.

  
"How did we miss this?" Tim, who had been silent since he heard the news, finally spoke, looking up at his big brother with wide, hopeless eyes. For a long while, the only thing Dick could do was stare back. It wasn't often that he was reminded how young Tim actually was, what with the way the boy carried himself, and seeing it now felt like a slap in the face.

  
"It's not your fault, Timmy." Jason said, his fingers fiddling with the lighter in his hands. "Bruce never told us that Stiles was related to Stark. There was absolutely no obvious reason for the kid to be taken."

  
Dick couldn't exactly argue with that. After Aunt Claudia died, none of the boys kept close contact with the Sheriff, figuring he'd need his space. It was Stiles who was the first to reach out, writing a letter, of all things, and asking if he could come visit.

  
It was good for all of them, whether Bruce would admit it or not. Stiles figured out the family secret within seconds of stepping into the manor. The bubbly boy, who had been the same age of a newly adopted Tim at the time, helped everyone cope with both Claudia's and Jason's apparent death.

  
They never did mend that relationship with the Sheriff, because honestly Dick didn't think he'd want anything to do with them now that Claudia was dead.

  
Stiles though...

  
He'd always made family a priority. Dick figured that, psychologically, he was trying to make up for the fact that he never knew his real dad, or that part of his family. His reasons never mattered though. Stiles was always there when anyone needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to scream at.

  
It wasn't until about three years ago that they started falling out. Stiles began to talk less and less. He wouldn't tell anyone where he was going or what he was up to. At the time, Bruce thought he was covering up for some friends who had gotten in to drugs of the fucked up nature.

  
He told them to give Stiles some space, and time. They did just that. Soon, phone calls became fewer and weekly dinners turned into monthly ones which turned into 'Sorry, but I'm drowning in school work. Maybe next time?'

  
But Stiles still wrote.

  
He wrote once or twice a week, if he was having it particularly bad. He wrote to Tim, Dick, Jason, Bruce and even Damian when the little devil came to live with them. He wrote about how gorgeous Lydia Martin was, and how he was afraid Scott would think him an ass if he graduated at the age of fifteen just because he could. He spoke about his shitty Chemistry teacher and the annoying Derek Hale (Dick was sure the poor kid was in love) and about how scared he'd been when Scott didn't turn up one morning. In recent months the letters were getting shorter, and Dick figured that it was Beacon Hills shitty postal services that stopped him from getting anything two months ago.

  
He should've known.

  
"Blaming ourselves won't help anyone." Damian said, not looking up from his origami dragon which he had been carefully working on for the past eight hours. "You heard what the doctor said. He's got the X gene. When he wakes up, he'll be an outcast." And Damian, who had never so much as cringed when men fell dead in front of him, looked positively horrified at the idea that someone would be prejudice to a boy he had never even met.

  
"I don't think it's the X gene." Tim said suddenly. "It's -it's too predictable. The way his body's acting. I just feel like, I dunno, maybe if it was he'd have grown wings or something by now."

  
"You sure?" Jason asked, because despite his teasing everyone knew that Tim was the smartest kid on the planet, second only perhaps to Stiles.

  
"It's just a theory." Which was Tim's way of saying that he knew it, he just needed time to prove himself right.

  
"After all this is over." Dick began, looking out the window. It was raining, but you could barely tell with the blackness of night. "He comes home with us. I don't care what John or Stark says. There's no way in hell we're letting him get through this alone."

  
No one protested, and in the silence of the room, the rain outside became heavier.

  
***

Location: Williamson Memorial Hospital   
Time: 21:03

  
John sat with his head bowed. The room was empty, safe for the boy lying on the bed, so he didn't bother to hide the tears that streamed freely down his face. He would need speech therapy, one of the nurses said. He probably wouldn't be able walk on his own for months, maybe even years.

  
"I'm sorry." He said in a sob, clutching onto his son's hand for dear life. Stiles was ice cold, despite being covered in blankets, his skin was as pale as the sheets he laid on. The only thing that stopped John from thinking the body a corpse was the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor.

  
John paused for a moment, before looking to his son's pale face. The bruises he had seen earlier looked even more prominent against the paleness of his skin. His jaw was in one of those casts, having been broken multiple times. His eyes were completely swollen and his misshapen body was hidden behind three layers of blankets.

  
How could he have let this happen?

  
How could he have let his son suffer through so fucking much?

  
"You were always the strong one, you know?" He didn't expect a reply, but continued nevertheless. "Even when your mother died, you were the one who kept me going. I always felt like a failure for that. You were just a kid, still are. You shouldn't have to be the one who kept me going. I was supposed to support you, not the other way around."

  
"But, then again you never did do what everyone thought you're supposed to." John smiled. "I knew about the letters. I'm not an idiot. I figured you'd never cut ties with them completely, no matter how much I couldn't stand Bruce and his disgusting ways. I always figured you saw something I didn't, in your uncle, in Dick, Tim, Jason, and Dami. Guess I was right."

  
Taking a deep, steadying breath, John gripped his son's hand tighter. "I don't know what it is that you've been through, and I don't think I'll ever understand, but right now, son, I need you to come back. Come back to me, and let me make it right. Let me take care of you the way I'm supposed to. Please, Stiles, just come back."

  
"Please, Stiles."

  
The heart rate monitor beeped and the hand John clung to remained cold and unmoving.

  
***

Location: Safe-house, Samara, Russia   
Time: 06:57

  
"Is he dead?" The question fell from Stane's lips before the man on the other end of the line could utter a sound. There was a long pause, wherein the only one of Stane's guards that had survived the attack thought over his words before speaking.

  
"No." He said and Stane threw the phone across the room.

  
"God mother fucking dammit!" Stane roared, watching as the mobile device bounced off the ground and shattered. It had been two weeks since the Avengers paid him a visit and everything went to shit. Two fucking weeks and he hadn't heard shit from _anyone_. Oh, he was dead man walking now, and if Stark didn't kill him then his superiors at Hydra most definitely would.

  
"Really, Obie?" Stane jumped at the sound of the voice. Looking up, he came face-to-face with the last man he wanted to see today. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

  
Stane said nothing as Nick Fury walked over the room, clutching a file in his hands. "You've really let me down today. Do you have any idea how long it took me to set up your little operation? Not to mention the fact that Stark'll be breathing down my neck once he realizes S.H.I.E.L.D.'s involvement in this whole mess."

  
"I'm sorry-"

  
"No you're not." In a millisecond, Fury was right in front of him, staring Stane in the eye with a vicious glare that made him falter. "But you will be. When I'm through with you, you're gonna regret the day you stupidly thought of crossing us. You don't think I know what you've been up to? Thought I'd let it slide while you sit back and torture the kid?"

  
"Doesn't matter." Stane said firmly. "Little Bastard's dead."

  
"Obie, Obie, Obie." Nick said in a scolding voice. "Don't you know, you shouldn't believe everything you hear." Fury began to walk towards the exit, but stopped when he reached the door.

  
"It's based on nothing but pure luck that you've managed to get yourself a second chance. I suggest you don't fuck it up. Stick to the plan, and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider letting you kill the kid when it's time."

  
***

Location: Williamson Memorial Hospital   
Time: 17:02

  
Stiles was still comatose. It had been four weeks, and the doctors had made no progress. And in those four weeks, Stiles had managed to hang on, if only by a thread. His condition hadn't been improving, but he wasn't dead yet, and that was all that mattered to Tony, who had only just worked up the courage to see him.

  
"I really don't know what I'm supposed to say here." Tony began awkwardly, looking at the boy on the bed. "From what I gather and recent studies, you can probably hear me, even if you don't remember it when you wake up. So, um, here goes nothing. I'm your dad."

  
Tony winced, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I suppose I'm being a bit crude. I'm your father, biologically speaking. Not that that's all I want to do with you. I mean obviously, if you're okay after all this, we can get in to some father son bonding activies or something. Not that I'm trying to-"

  
With a deep sigh, Tony cut himself off and resisted the urge to slam his head against a wall. The kid wasn't even conscious and he was already turning Tony into a stuttering mess. It would be amusing if the situation wasn't so damned fucked up.

  
"I don't know you." Tony finally said. "And I'm not trying to excuse my absents in the past sixteen years of your life by saying that I didn't know _about_  you, but it's true. I didn't. I would really like to make it up to you, some day, if you want that."

  
With tears in his eyes, Tony dropped down onto a chair. "Now you see, I can't do that if you never wake up." His voice was clogged with emotion when he spoke, and Tony found it all the more difficult to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. "I know it's a lot to ask." He breathed out. "But I need you to wake up. Stiles, you don't know it yet, but your surrounded by people who love you, people who would crawl to the ends of the earth to make you happy. And those people? They're not gonna be okay if they can't see you again."

  
With one last shattering breath, Tony finally allowed all the tears that had been building up to fall. He gripped on to Stiles' hand, tiny in his own, for dear life and sobbed. "I won't be okay if I never get to meet you."

  
"Please, Stiles. Wake up."

  
The boy didn't move. 


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back again!! I've realised that some of you might not know the basics of the DC character's I've mentioned so here's a quick filler (plus my interpretations of the characters) 
> 
>  
> 
> Bruce Wayne - Orphaned at the age of eight when his parents were murdered in front of him by a petty their. Spent years training and learning to fight under the leadership of Ra's-al-Ghul. Refuses to kill, innocent or otherwise. He has created the identity of Batman, and I'm really not gonna go in to that coz yeah. During the day he is known as the proud, charming playboy Bruce Wayne 
> 
>  
> 
> Richard John 'Dick' Grayson - adopted by Bruce as a child after witnessing his parents death. He used to be a trapeze artist in Haly's Circus where he watched his parent's fall to death. Began working with Bruce under the identity of Robin, but quickly realised that he could not live with his mentors rules. Adopted the persona of Nightwing and began to fight crime in a town nearby to Gotham City, Bruce's home town, called Bludhaven. 
> 
>  
> 
> Jason Todd- the second Robin,took Dick's place after he became Nightwing. Batman found him trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile. Jason was 'killed' by the Joker but brought back to life by Ra's-al-Ghul. Developed a hatred for the Bat because he refused to kill the Joker, even after he murdered Jason. No goes by Red Hood 
> 
>  
> 
> Tim Drake - the third Robin, not at all adopted by Bruce Wayne. Tim sought out Batman after Jason left when he realized how rough the Bat was being with his criminals. Extremely intelligent. Came to live with Bruce after his parents died of natural causes. 
> 
>  
> 
> Damian Wayne - the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia-al-Ghul, the daughter of Ra's-al-Ghul. Came to live with Bruce when he realized the wrong his family did. Trained as an assassin from birth and killed a man before he knew how to ride a bike. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope that helps, though they aren't mentioned in this chapter

Location: The Avengers Tower   
Time: 06:30

  
"Where's Stark?" The boomig voice of Nick Fury asked the moment he walked in, black coat swooshing behind home like a cape. From his position at the kitchen island, Clint let out a groan that no one would think a deadly assassin capable off.

  
"Not here, obviously." Natasha said, not even bothering to look up from her copy of Marie Claire Magazine. Fury glared.

  
"Listen, Agent-"

  
"But we're not Agents anymore, now are we?" Clint asked sarcastically, taking a sip from his coffee. He didn't need to look to know that Natasha was holding back a smirk. "What do you want, Fury? It's too early for a terrorist attack."

  
Fury visibly took a steadying breath, and Clint knew he was barely resisting the urge to strangle the life out of him. "We need Stark to come in. There's some repulser engines we'd like him to take a look at."

  
"And who exactly is we?" Clint raised his eyebrows. Fury met the stare with his own burning glare.

  
"That's above your pay grade, _Mr_ Barton."

  
"I need a raise." Clint concluded, getting up from the kitchen island and moving to sit next to Natasha on the living room couch. "Stark isn't here. Do us all a favour and fuck off now."

  
"You are aware that I'm in charge of your boyfriends missions, Mr Barton?" Fury asked and both Clint and Natasha glared at him.

  
"Low blow, Nick." Clint stated, but otherwise didn't comment. "Have a nice day, _sir_."

  
"I know he's at the hospital." Fury said, not bothering to hide the smugness in his voice. "He doesn't even go see the kid, just sits in the waiting room, right? I also know that he hasn't been anywhere else since. Heard SI took a huge blow from that. Thought the poor bastard was gonna reclaim his company."

  
"The tabloids are trash, Fury." Natasha said, not taking the bait. Nick hesitated, before quickly adding.

  
"Tell Stark to pull his shit together. The world spins on, with or without him in it."

  
Clint didn't look up until he heard the sounds of the door closing. "Jarvis?" He spoke to the air and heard the familiar British accent.

  
"Director Fury arrived here from a SHIELD safe house in Samara, Russia. He came directly here and took no detours. According to his flight plans, he is now on his was to Williamson Memorial Hospital in Seattle."

  
"Let Tony know."

***

Location: Williamson Memorial Hospital   
Time: 06:47

  
"I think the staff's getting sick of us." Tony said, looking down at the cup of coffee in his hands. Next to him, John shrugged, taking a sip from his own coffee. They were sitting outside of Stiles' room, neither feeling the need to go see him just yet, both needing a little time to pull themselves together.

  
"Too bad." John said without much conviction. Tony knew why he was here and not back at the Avengers Tower where he slept. He didn't want to say anything, but figured it was now or never.

  
"Your flight leaves in a couple of hours." Tony began, not knowing how exactly he was gonna get to the point. "I- I'm not trying to be an ass or anything, but I figured you'd want to know-"

  
"Everything." John interrupted, taking a long sip. "I want to know whatever happens to Stiles. The second there's a change, I don't care if it's his body temperature going up an eighth of a degree. I want to know." Tony nodded. John hesitated, but eventually he spoke. "And, when he wakes up, I want you to be there for him. Even if he screams at you to leave or tries to claw your eyes out. Stay with him."

  
Tony nodded, not knowing what else to say. He felt as though he had just been given John's Last and Final Testament. "He's gonna be okay." Tony told him, but at this point it was just an empty mantra he repeated in his head from time to time.

  
"I know." John lied. Tony didn't follow him with the Sheriff stood and went to visit his unconscious son for what Tony prayed wouldn't be the last time.

  
"It's nice, what you're doing for him." The voice of one Nick Fury echoed over the almost empty hallway. It was too early for it to be busy, and Tony had arranged John's flight for that specific reason.

  
"The fuck do you want?" Tony mumbled, lifting a hand and scratching a tired eye.

  
"World peace, end world hunger, maybe a nice lake house in the Hamptons." Fury shrugged, taking the seat that John had just vacated.

  
"Thank you, by the way." Fury raised a brow at Tony's words but the billionaire ignored it. "I know that you've been keeping the paps out of my hair. I really appreciate it."

  
Fury stared at Tony for a moment before scoffing and looking away. "Look at that. You've actually grown as a person."

  
Tony sighed, reaching into his jeans pocket. "Well, as much as it pains me to admit it, I never would've found Stane if it hadn't been for your boys at S.H.I.E.L.D. If it weren't for you, Stiles would probably already be dead by now."

  
The billionaire pulled out a napkin from his back pocket and handed it to Fury. Nick looked over the piece of tissue, quickly recognizing it to be some kind of data schematic. "And this is?"

  
"What you came here for." Tony supplied. At the blank look that Fury gave him, the billionaire smiled slightly. "You insult me, Nick. You've been keeping an eye on me, you don't think I've been doing the same? Personally though, I think that Project Insight is a great idea. A little bit out there, but great. These engine designs should help you out."

  
Nick nodded, folding the napkin in half and tucking it into his front pocket. "How is the boy?"

  
"Honestly, it's a miracle he's still alive." Tony said, not bothering to check if anyone was listening because Nick Fucking Fury. "The doctors all think he's gonna drop dead any second now. They've tried to convince me to just put the kid out of his misery, but by now I'm sure they've realized it's a lost cause."

  
Fury nodded, looking at his hands. "Believe me when I say that kid is stronger than he looks." Nick thought back to his meeting with Obadiah, remembering what the other man had told him. "He'll pull through. It can't be long now."

  
Tony let out a dry, humorless, laugh. "It's been six weeks, Nick. As much as I'd hate to admit it, maybe the doctors are right."

  
Fury smiled.

  
"Have a little faith."

  
Tony resisted the urge to tell him the truth; he'd stopped believing in God when aliens fell from the sky.

  
***

Location: The McCall Residence   
Time: 17:28

  
A deadly silence echoed throughout the lonely home, broken only by the occasional sound of rustling clothes, and in drawn breaths. No one dared speak as Scott stared down at the photograph in his hands, the frame cracking underneath the strain.

  
"Come on, Scott." It was Allison who was the first to raise her concerns. From where Isaac stood, leaning against the wall, he could tell what was about to happen next. "We can't just sit around and wait. We have to-"

  
The archer was interrupted by a growl from Scott, and the brunette didn't need to look up for Isaac to know that his eyes were glowing red. They were all apart of Scott's pack now, and when their Alpha was this angry, everyone felt it.

  
"The Sheriff told us to wait." Scott said simply. "So we wait."

  
Isaac was in no position to argue, although he felt the need to do so in his core. Since Stiles went missing, their wold had been altered. It felt as though he was living in a dream, the kind that only felt real at the time, and any second he was gonna wake up and Stiles would be looming over him, prodding his face with a permanent marker.

  
"It's been six weeks." Lydia said, sounding completely distraught. That was actually a pretty good description as to how she'd been in said six weeks. Her face was makeup free and had been for weeks. Her clothes were always simple sweats and t-shirts, and if the rumors were true, she'd been slipping up with her grades.

  
"The Sheriff-"

  
"Personally, I don't care what the Sheriff said." Jackson said, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "Scott, he's hurt. He's in pain. If even one of us went there we could at least help him with that." When all the alpha did was groan, Jackson pushed. "He was your best friend-"

  
"He is, okay!" Scott snapped. "And stop talking about him like he's dying, like we should go so that we can see him one last time. Stiles is strong, stronger than any one of us and he's going to be fine!"

  
His voice echoed in the silence.

  
"Scott." Lydia said, taking a tentive step forward. "Whether you chose to believe it or not, the truth remains." Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. When Scott didn't immediately brush it off, she took it one step further. "Stiles _is_ dying, and if you don't go now, it'll be the biggest regret of your life."

  
"No."

  
Everyone turned their startled eyes to Isaac, who hadn't spoken a word since he got there. "You're wrong Lydia. Stiles will survive and I'm not just saying it because I want to believe it's true. He's stayed alive, without the help of life support for more than a month now. And sure, you could say it's luck, but since when are we so lucky? There's a reason he's alive. His body is fighting, it's healing however long it might take. You might not see it, but I do.  _Derek_ does. And there's no way in hell Stiles Stilinski would let himself die because of some lifelong grudge."

  
And with that, the light haired boy turned away from the people he considered to be his pack and made his way to the door. Before he could leave, however he was interrupted.

  
"If Derek sees all of this, then pray do tell, where the fuck is he?"

  
Isaac turned. "He's looking."

  
***

Location: Abydos, Egypt   
Time: 16:58

  
"Why are we doing this again?"

  
The question left the lips of Peter Hale for what must've been the one hundredth time that day. From his position a few feet away, Derek chose very pointedly to ignore his uncle.

  
In a few minutes the sun will have set, and if they didn't find them, it would be too late. Weeks of travelling and preparation would've been for nothing.

  
"Are you sure they're here?" Derek asked, looking over at the beautiful hues of orange, red and purple that painted the sky. It was almost time.

  
"Ouch, Derek. I'm wounded." Peter said in a mock hurt voice. "Don't you trust me?"

  
"Not as far as I can throw you." Derek mumbled. Peter rolled his eyes, taking a few quick strides so that he was shoulder to shoulder with his nephew.

  
"Just so you know, I get it." He said, looking at the sunset as well. "That primal urge inside of you that's just burning because you can't _do_ anything." Peter let out a laugh. "I mean, it's one thing to see your mate in pain, it's a whole other-"

  
His sentence was cut short by Derek's furious glare. Peter rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a, what was the word he used? Sourwolf? Really Derek."

  
Suddenly though, Peter went quiet and he gave his nephew a meaningful look. "I do know how it feels, Der. To watch helplessly while your mate suffers, completely useless. Remember, I didn't just lose my family the night of the fire. I lost _everything._ And I won't let the same thing happen to you."

  
Peter clapped Derek on the back loudly, but the sound of it was overshadowed by the blowing winds around them. "Whether you like it or not, we are family."

  
Derek took a moment. He had heard anything this close to a sentiment come from his uncle's mouth in a long, long time. He was about to reply when he spotted it, flying in the air.

  
"They're here."

  
No sooner than the words left his mouth, a group of flying creatures began soaring through the air, their beautiful, fiery red wings glinting in the sunset. As if in a choreographed dance, the creatures moved in complete sync before swooping down low, a few feet away from where Derke and Peter were standing.

  
They each struck the ground with a loud clash, standing on two feet. They were humanoids, huge beautiful, powerful looking men and women with bare chests and magnificent wings projecting delicately from they're backs.

  
In short, they looked beautifully terrifying.

  
"Who dares walk the land that does not belong to them?" The one in the dead center of the nine beautiful creatures asked in a booming voice, taking a step forward. Derek guessed he was the leader of their group and stepped forward as well. Peter looked terrified and took two steps back.

  
"I do." Derek said calmly, with just as much, if not more, power in his voice. "My name is Derek Hale. I am a descendant of the old Hale Tribe of North America."

  
"What is your purpose here?" A second creature spoke, a female one.

  
"I come to seek your help." A series of murmurs went through the group and Derek gulped. "I mean no disrespect to you, and I regard you with the utmost honour when I ask this of you. Your healing powers are possibly the only thing that could help me. My mate lays at deaths bed."

  
This elicited an even louder round of murmurs from the crowd and Derek held his tongue. His patience was running thin. "Please. I beg you."

  
Peter was just about ready to scream when Derek kneeled down before the creatures in front of him. The only thing stopping him as the hand of the first Phoenix on Derek's shoulder.

  
"We are wise creatures, Derek Hale." The Phoenix said. "We understand your struggle, as the stars have written about them. We admire you, for it takes a great man to hold the love for his mate above his pride. We cannot help you, Derek Hale."

  
Derek's head shot up, but the pheonixs were already moving with lightning fast speed. "Wait!" Derek cried out in a final, desperate plea. To his suprise, one of them did. "Why? What do you mean? What have the stars written?"

  
"Our kind see the unseen." The phoenix said. "We cannot help you, as we cannot intervene with fate. We simply observe. But know this Derek Hale; your struggle will lead to great triumph, and so will his."

  
With that the phoenix flapped her beautiful wings and soared high into the deep purple sky, joining the rest of her pack.

  
"Wait!" Derek cried out in desperation. "Wait! I need you to heal him! I need your help!" He was still kneeling on the ground as tears streamed down his face and his voice cracked. A moment later, Peter dropped down in front of him.

  
"I-I need-" Deemed gasped. "I need their help. I need to save him."

  
Peter didn't say a word as he wrapped his arms around Derek's shoulders and pulled him in. He was silent when Derek began sobbing miserably into his chest, breaking down into nothing.

  
He knew what this meant and what it felt like. The Phoenixs had been their last hope. There was no denying it now.

  
Stiles Stilinski was a dead man. 


End file.
